The Hound and the Bird
by boozy von chugaton
Summary: Sandor and Sansa try to fight their growing feelings for each other as King's Landing descends into chaos. Together, they find soft moments in a harsh place. *contains dialogue from both the books and the show. Rated M for later. R&R:
1. The Little Bird Learns to Bite

**A/N**: I don't own Game of Thrones. If I did, Sansa would be older and she and the Hound would be off somewhere having sexy time. As it is, she is not older and HBO refuses to let that minor detail go. After Blackwater, I decided that I wanted to do something from both character's POV and change the storyline a little because these two are just perfect for each other. Btw, I love people who R&R Just an fyi.

**Warning**: Sansa is technically "underage" in our world; in the GoT world, she isn't. And since this story takes place in an alternate universe within an alternate universe, I say that just about all bets are off. But if you get offended easily... don't read this story.

Chapter 1: The Little Bird Learns to Bite

Sandor Clegane had been watching his Little Bird get beaten for over an hour in front of the entire court. It angered him that Joffrey had taken his temper out on her. The foolish prick had been beaten by an enemy and instead of facing it like a man, he reacted like a spoiled child (which he was) and struck out at a helpless girl who was engaged to him. Sandor repressed a snort: engaged. Sansa was a beautiful flower that had livened up the darkened halls of King's Landing. And Joffrey was crushing her. He would never let anyone know that he had fallen hard for the girl – mostly because he was disgusted by it. She was a child but at the same time, she wasn't. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to see her become a woman and blossom into the breathtaking creature he knew she was well on her way to becoming; on the other, he knew the moment she bled, Joff would marry her and she would be his to the day she died. He would never admit that he had no idea what to do when it came to Sansa Stark. The girl brought out these things that everyone called feelings, but the only emotion he had ever known had been anger.

A cry echoed off the walls from Sansa and it snapped him out of his reverie. "Enough," he hissed at the king. Had Joffrey been a man like Robert, the Hound might have spoken respectfully, but Joff was no Robert – his father would never beat a woman. Ever.

"No!" the blonde idiot yelled. "She must pay! Meryn, she looks a tad overdressed, does she not?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the knight replied.

"Unburden her."

Sandor felt his throat tighten as Meryn ripped the redhead's dress. A quick flash of her breast and one of the most feared men in the Seven Kingdoms felt sick to his stomach. He had seen naked women – fucked countless of them in fact – but Sansa was no whore. Not only was she a highborn, she was a lady. He wanted to go and tell her that it was going to be okay. As long as he was around, she would never have to fear anyone ever again. But that wasn't true. He had told her once that a hound would die for you but never lie to you. If it ever came to that, Sansa would be the only person in his life he would gladly lay down his life for; but he would also never lie to her; fill her head back up with romantic notions about honorable knights. He was neither honorable, nor a knight. And she had just begun to understand this.

"What is the meaning of this?" A large shadow came over the room as the Imp walked through the crowd. "What kind of a knight beats a helpless girl?" he snapped at Meryn.

"One who serves the King, Imp."

Tyrion's sellsword replied for him. "Careful now. You wouldn't want to get blood all over that pretty white cloak."

Sandor's grey eyes moved to the front and saw Sansa covering herself as best she could while Bronn hovered over her, ready to strike at whoever came near her. Jealousy shot straight through him and the urge to protect her became overwhelming, which was nearly enough to make him wonder what the hell he was thinking. He had been jealous once in his lifetime and that was when another killed a man that he was aiming for. The sensation felt strange and he didn't like it. He heard Tyrion call out for someone to give her something to cover herself with and without a missing a beat, Sandor offered her his cloak. The look she gave him tore at his heart, but he never let it show. Instead, he gently placed the heavy material around her shoulders and went back to his spot. Sansa's delicate hands gripped the white cloak and hugged it around her. He tuned out Tyrion's lecture about the Mad King and continued to stare at his Little Bird on the floor. Her eyes were red and puffy; her lips were still trembling. Rage surged through him again as he saw Meryn out of the corner of his eye. He was going to make him pay for these beatings. He watched with resentful eyes as Tyrion led his bird away. But at least Tyrion wouldn't harm her. The imp might have been a Lannister, but at least he was able to tame the King's temper. His presence had reduced the beatings on the Stark girl, something that almost made Sandor believe in the gods.

The King nearly threw another tantrum after being embarrassed at court. He hated that Robb was winning, but he hated that his pride had been wounded by his uncle even more. "That Stark girl better bleed soon!" he vented. "I'm getting tired of waiting."

The Hound watched the boy as they walked to his chambers. "Yes, Your Grace." Inside, he was thoroughly disgusted. When Sansa finally did become a woman, Joffrey would never take her gently. And his Little Bird deserved her first time to be gentle. That was another reason he could never let her know how he felt. He was not only a killer; the word "gentle" would never be used to describe any part of him. Whores could take him because they were used to harsh men in King's Landing. No. He needed to squash any feeling that arose until she bled. After that, he could deal with them because at least she would be a woman.

"Dog," Joff called.

"Your Grace?"

"See to it that my lady has new maids by tomorrow. I think they are trying to make her look ugly."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Joffrey opened his door and saw two whores by his bed. He smirked over his shoulder at the Hound. "Away with you, dog."

Sansa stared at her handmaids as they filled the tub with roses. The steam from the hot water filled the room, settling on her bruised skin. As Sansa watched the maids flutter across the room through the mirror, Shae was gently brushing her red hair. Sansa had a terrible headache from all the crying she had been doing lately and the brushes bristles were starting to scratch at her scalp. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what milady?" Shae asked quietly.

"For how I treated you when you first came to me. I was rude."

"It's okay," Shae smiled. "I understand."

The two shared a moment before a knock at the door interrupted them. "Come in," Sansa called.

The Hound pushed the door opened and everyone stopped. The stares didn't seem to bother him as he bent his head slightly toward the redhead. "My lady," he addressed.

Sansa stared at him through the mirror. "What does the King want now?" She knew her words were dangerous, but she knew the Hound wouldn't say anything. She knew he hated Joff as much as she did.

"Get out," he barked at the women. "All of you."

"But," one of them stammered. "We are supposed to help bathe the lady."

He took a step forward and the women instinctively backed up. He enjoyed scaring the little idiots. "Out."

Sansa let a tiny smirk graze her lips as she saw what one word from the Hound did. The women dropped the linens and ran from the room. "What was that for?" she demanded.

Sandor let his eyes fall on Shae. "You too." This time, his tone wasn't so cutting. He had seen the brunette exchange some looks with Tyrion. Obviously, she was going to be sticking around. He'd never say a word about it because frankly, he was kind of going through the same thing (though he was far more cautious with his glances). That and Sansa seemed to take to the foreign beauty.

Shae glanced down at Sansa, waiting for confirmation. "It's okay," Sansa assured. She grabbed the brush from her maiden's hand and waited until the door shut before turning to the Hound. It was clear that he wanted to say something more. The Hound never stayed anywhere longer than he had to. "What do you want?"

He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. "Little Bird needs something to dry her eyes with." In Sandor-speak, that was a lot. He just hoped she would realize that. Sansa stood and walked to him. She was so close that he could smell the dried blood from her open wounds.

"Thank you," she said softly. Her clear blue eyes flew up to meet his. There was something in his eyes that made her feel strange. A fire went through her as their skin touched. He snapped his hand back and she felt embarrassed at the image that went through her mind. "This is the second time you've given me something."

"Don't be thinking anything about it, girl," he spat. "It's a cloth, not a marriage proposal."

"Good," she retorted. "I need the cloth; I don't want the proposal."

A little pride came over Sandor at her declaration. "The Little Bird's begun to bite," he sneered.

"Why did Joffrey dismiss my maids?"

"He thinks they're jealous of you."

"Are they?"

He regarded her for a moment. There was no piety or arrogance in her voice. He suspected that her self esteem had taken a beating also. "You make men want to kill for you. Of course they're jealous." With that, he walked out, leaving Sansa with a stunned expression.

"Milady?" Shae said after the Hound left. "Are you all right?"

Sansa wasn't sure she had heard him clearly. "Y-yes," she stammered.

Shae followed her lady's gaze toward the door where the Hound had just come from. Something happened; she just couldn't put her finger on it. "Come, let us get you clean."

"I can do it," Sansa said politely. "I'm sure you have things you want to do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You're dismissed." After Shae left, Sansa stripped down and carefully placed her pale body in the water. Her body was changing, that much she could see. Her breasts were becoming fuller and they hurt; her hips had begun to widen; and her childlike face had started to sharpen, showing off her soft cheekbones. Her lips had already become plump and her waist started taking its shape. Boys had always noticed her beauty, but now that she was becoming a woman, it was men who were starting to look. She wasn't sure she was ready for that. The only thing left to do was to bleed – something she was not looking forward to. The moment she did, Joffrey would own her for life. She already felt alone, but at least she could always escape to her chambers and talk to Shae. Her chamber, or "cage" as the Hound called it, was both her sanctuary and her prison. The moment her father's head had come off, her innocence had been lost. Joffrey didn't love her and the noble knights that she had dreamt of meeting were nothing more than glorified bullies. The only one who had never hurt her was the Hound. A strange thought went to Sansa's head at that moment: why had the Hound never struck her? In fact, when she was getting beaten this last time, he actually stuck up for her. That had never happened before. "Why would he do that?" she asked the air. A strange flutter came into her stomach and stayed there until the man's face came into view. She shuddered at the thought of kissing the burnt flesh._ 'Kiss? Where did that come from?'_ she thought. Dunking under the water, she held her breath. Things would be so much easier if she just stayed there. No one would miss her. There would be no more beatings, no more having to call her family "traitors" just to pacify Joff, no lies she would have to hear, no more Cersei, Meryn, or gossiping maids. Suddenly, her body was lifted from the bathtub and she gasped from the sharp intake of air.

"What are you doing?" the Hound bellowed.

Sansa was so blindsided by the action, she wasn't able to think. The Hound kept shaking her, trying to get her to speak, but she was too surprised. "I-I was taking a bath."

"You were trying to kill yourself!"

Sansa's torso began to shake from the cold air that was giving her goose-bumps as she stared into the Hound's eyes. His tone was angry, but his expression was one of panic. "I was not! And stop it! You're hurting me!"

He released his hold immediately and took a step back. She was naked as a newborn baby but that was the last thing on his mind. "Then why were you under the water?"

"I was trying to relax!" She stomped her foot at his lack of understanding. She let out a sharp huff as he handed her a towel. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I was sent by the King's Hand," he replied. He turned his back as she wrapped the tiny cloth around her body, which had blossomed recently he noticed. "He wants to speak to you."

"Why?"

"I did not ask," he growled.

Sansa winced at the acidic tone. "Tell him I shall be there shortly." He left without another word and by time she was ready, he was back at her door. "Why aren't you with the King?" she asked as they walked down the hall.

"Little Bird is worried about her betrothed?" he mocked. When a very un-Sansa like snort came from in front of him, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to the wall. His voice was menacing as he loomed over her. "You should be more careful, girl. If I were anyone else, that noise could get you killed."

"But you aren't like anyone else," she said hotly. "You're an honorable man."

A bitter laugh escaped from deep inside him. "I am neither honorable nor a man, girl."

"Then what are you?"

"A dog," he said in a low tone. "The sooner you open your eyes to the fact that no one in this place is honest, the better off you'll be." He shoved her gently toward Tyrion's room and let her inside. After the imp dismissed him, he leaned against the closed door and sighed heavily. That girl would never be his. Not only was she a lady and he a dog, but King's Landing was no place for romance, love, or anything worth having. It was a poisonous home, sucking the life from the only thing that stirred emotions in his cold heart. A short time later, Sansa's voice near the door made him straighten up and assume his natural, intimidating stature.

"Thank you, my lord," she said sweetly to Tyrion. "But I am content with being King Joffrey's betrothed. He is my one true love." Sandor knew her words were simple repetition of the same song she had been forced to learn. That thought did nothing to settle the bile that threatened to rise at the sound of those words.

The door opened and Tyrion led her out. "Of course, milady. I shall see you at court." He turned his face to Sandor and said, "Make sure she gets back safely."

Sandor bowed slightly as he escorted Sansa back through the halls. Even though they rarely walked side by side, he was grateful for the time they got together. It was the only time he felt human. Her presence calmed the constant storm in him; his anger ebbed when he thought of her sweet face and soothing voice.

"Thank you, ser," she said politely when they reached her door.

"How many times do I have to tell you, girl," he sneered. "I am no 'ser'."

"Then what shall I call you? Dog is simply not acceptable and neither is Hound. You have a name, I intend to use it."

"Sandor then," he acquiesced. "But you shouldn't call me that unless we are alone."

"We are never alone."

"The little bird is learning," he smiled roughly. He pushed open the door and closed it in her face the moment she stepped inside. He hated being so cruel to her considering she was getting that from everyone, but it was the only way for her to learn fast. She would never survive if she continued the way she was going. He growled in frustration and stalked out of the castle to the nearest barkeep to drown out his thoughts and these stupid, useless feelings in wine.

Shae knew something was going on with her lady. Sansa was even more distant than usual. "Milady?"

"Hm?"

"Is everything okay?"

"Hm? Oh yes. Everything...Shae?"

"Yes, milady?"

"Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course."

Sansa had no idea how to begin this conversation. She should be having it with her mother, but that wasn't an option and there was no way she was going to Cersei. "How do you know if you really like a man?"

Shae put the brush to Sansa's red hair and slowly stroked the soft strands. "You just do," she replied.

"What do _you_ feel when you like a man?" she directed at the brunette. "How did you know you liked someone?"

"I wanted to be around him all the time. Whenever we were together, my heart would beat fast and I would get really nervous. Butterflies filled my belly and all I wanted to do was kiss and-" she paused when she saw Sansa looking at her, "kiss him."

"What if he's ugly?" The Hound's scarred face came into her mind and it made her shiver.

"If you really like him," she cooed, "his looks won't matter."

Sansa couldn't ever see how she could get past Sandor's face. His wounds weren't exactly subtle. But it was only a short time ago that she thought Joffrey was perfect because he was handsome and he turned out to be the son of evil; the Hound, as ugly as he was, had more honor than a thousand knights. "You really think so?"

"No matter the man, you will always be beautiful for the both of you."

Even Sansa didn't think she was _that_ beautiful. "I hope so."

"Milady has her eye on someone?" When Sansa only stared at her, Shae took action. "Milady," she whispered. "You must not be thinking such things. If the King were to find out..."

"You won't tell him will you?" Sansa panicked. Of course, no one in their right mind, or mad for that matter, would suspect the Hound in a million winters.

"No," the brunette replied sharply. "But this secret should never leave your head again. The King would have your head, as well as the other man's."

'_Not Sandor's.' _Sansa smirked at the idea, but Shae was serious. "Promise me you won't tell anyone."

"I promise milady."

A horrible thought came over Sansa. If Joffrey were to suspect the idea she was attracted to another, he would probably have Sandor beat her within an inch of her life. The irony would be too bitter to find funny.


	2. An Alliance is Forged

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews I got for the first chapter! They mean a lot and it always gives me a case of the "Yay! Someone likes it!" That goes to the alerts and favorites that I got as well I hope y'all continue to like it. Don't forget: Review comes after reading:) I can't help but beg. It makes me feel good and helps me to write a little faster.**

Chapter 2: An Alliance is Forged

_Sansa was in her room crying at the thought of losing her virginity to Joffrey and having to sleep with him. The idea made her hate being a woman. She had finally bled and within hours, her marriage to Joffrey was planned. The cool air had nipped at her near sheer nightgown, making her shake from the breeze. _

"_Winter is coming," a rough voice said from the doorway._

_Sansa recognized the voice immediately as she continued to stare out the window. Her house words made sense tonight. "It's been coming for a while hasn't it?" She felt Sandor move to stand behind her and his presence started to warm her. She turned her head over her shoulder to look at him and saw that he didn't have the burnt skin anymore. "What happened to your face?"_

"_Do you like it, Little Bird?" he asked._

"_No." She was surprised at the answer she gave him, but was even more surprised to find that she meant it._

"_No?"_

"_No. I like your other face better."_

"_Why, girl? You can finally look at me now."_

"_I could always look," she snapped. "You seem...different."_

"_Do I?"_

"_Yes. I don't like it." His grey eyes stared into hers, giving her confidence to ask, "What did you mean by I make men want to kill for me?"_

"_Any man would kill to have you look at him."_

"_Even you?"_

"_Aye, even me."_

"_I'm looking at you now."_

"_That you are, Little Bird. That you are."_

"_Do you ever look at me?"_

"_All the time."_

Sansa bolted upright, giving Shae a fright. The brunette ran to the girl's side immediately. "Milady, are you okay?"

No, she was definitely not all right. "I had a dream," she croaked out.

"Was it a nightmare?"

"No. It should have been, but it wasn't. What do you think that means?"

"I am no good with dreams, milady. But it was only that – a dream." Sansa let out a sigh and fell back on to her pillows. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I dreamt of the – a man."

"That doesn't sound so horrible."

"It wasn't. It was wonderful actually. I wasn't afraid of him."

"That's good." A knock drew Shae to the door. She moved aside to let Ser Meryn in.

"Lady Stark, your attendance is requested by the King," he stated.

Sansa was much more careful to hide her emotions this time. "Tell his Grace that I will be there as soon as I can." Ser Meryn bowed slightly and left in a hurry. Sansa was slightly disappointed that it wasn't Sandor who came but she knew as the King's sworn shield, most of his time would be with Joffrey. There was another reason for her to hate the little prick. "Pick something pretty," Sansa declared to Shae.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What is taking her so long?" Joffrey demanded.

"Your Grace, perfection takes time," Tyrion replied. He sent a worried glance toward the Hound who seemed to echo his sentiment. Sansa was never late. "Hound, go see what it is taking so long."

Sandor bowed slightly and carried himself with aloofness until he turned the corner. He quickened his pace until he reached Sansa's door. For the first time in his life, he felt afraid that he would find a dead body. When he knocked on the door, Shae answered and without preamble, Sandor pushed his way inside to see where Sansa was. "Where is she?" he barked. The door to Sansa's bathroom opened and there stood his little bird. Her face looked as though she had seen a ghost and then a deep red blush came over her cheeks when her eyes landed on him. Both Sandor and Shae noticed the odd behavior from the Stark girl. Sansa had always had an air of grace about her so to see her so put off was jolting. In fact, the way her blush crept up made Sandor uncomfortable in all sorts of ways. "You best come with me, girl," he said. "The King is losing patience."

Sansa didn't say a word; she just grabbed her shawl and walked out without a word. Shae and Sandor exchanged a confused glance before he followed her out. He noticed as they walked that she put as much distance between them as courtesy would allow. What happened to make her so different this morning? Finally, he couldn't stand it and he grasped her shoulder gently to swivel her around. "What is the matter, little bird?"

"I beg pardon?" Her eyes never left the floor.

"Don't play that with me, girl," he snapped roughly. "Did something happen?"

Her cheeks burned again with the touch of his hand on her shoulder. "I-I- I don't – No. Nothing's happened."

He let his hand stay for a moment longer before releasing her. "Go or see both our heads removed."

Though it was half ugly, Sansa decided that she liked his head right where it was. She hastened her pace until she came to Joffrey's side. "I apologize for my tardiness Your Grace," she said timidly.

The Hound watched as Joffrey raked his green eyes over Sansa's body. Her dress was tight across her body, letting the top of her breasts gleam against the collar. It flattered her figure and Joffrey seemed to be pacified for the moment. Sandor had to agree with Tyrion: perfection did take time.

"That's all right, my lady," Joffrey replied. Obviously, he appreciated the extra effort she put in her appearance today. "I like that color on you. Dog doesn't my lady look fetching in that color?"

Sandor had to think of the time Gregor mutilated some kittens in order to keep his thoughts in check. The deep green dress contrasted beautifully against Sansa's red hair and pale skin; her blue eyes, though dulled by recent events, still sparkled involuntarily. Her hair had been pulled back by two small braids and hung loose around her shoulders. Sandor liked her hair better this way; the other way she would wear it, which was popular in King's Landing, looked stupid in his opinion. Just because she was a little bird didn't mean she had to have a nest on her head. "Yes, Your Grace," his rough voice replied.

"I want three more dresses in that color by the end of the day."

"Yes, Your Grace." Sandor actually agreed with the prick's decision.

"Come, Sansa," Joffrey called. "I want to show you something."

Sansa watched as Tyrion received a letter from a messenger. His face darkened and he had a hard time swallowing. He dismissed himself and nearly ran down the hall. "What's the matter with him?"

"Who cares?" Joffrey snorted. "Come."

Sansa was brought into a chamber that housed an enormous bed. The window was wide and overlooked the sea as well as the city. It was a breathtaking view. "It's beautiful, Your Grace."

"This is where we will live," the King stated. "You will conceive sons."

"What if there are only girls?" Sansa retorted.

Joffrey shot her a cold look. He sauntered up to her and looked hard into her eyes. "Then your life will be forfeit. I have no use for girls. Girls cannot run a kingdom." She didn't say anything so Joffrey continued. "Besides, my mother said you have son bearing hips. I think four will suffice. What do you think?"

She wasn't sure what came over her, but her eyes flittered over his shoulders and landed on Sandor. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to bear your children," she declared firmly.

Joffrey assumed she was looking at him and smiled. "See dog, women are such simple minded creatures."

Sansa was deeply offended. At least when Sandor said it, he wasn't meaning it to be malicious; he said it at first to be mocking, but now his nickname was more a show of affection. "You're right, Your Grace. I am here for your pleasure."

"What was that?" Joffrey asked, obviously noting her smart ass answer. "What did you say?"

"I said I am here for your pleasure," Sansa reiterated, this time more sincerely. All she had to do was think of Sandor and the words came out in a convincing manner. Speaking of Sandor, he looked like the wind had been knocked out of him. Had she managed to take one of the most feared men by surprise? That was quite accomplishment in her book.

"Yes you are," Joffrey snapped. "And you would do well to not forget it."

Lancel Lannister strode into the bedroom and bowed deeply at Joffrey. "Your Grace," he huffed. "I have important news regarding Renly Baratheon."

Joffrey looked bored and annoyed at the same time. Sansa and Sandor both wondered at the same time if that's what happened when you have shit for brains. "What does he want?"

"He's dead, Your Grace. By the hand of..." Lancel glanced at Sansa and finished, " Lady Catelyn Stark."

There was an awkward pause as everyone's eyes fell on Sansa, who stood frozen in place with her mouth open. "What did you say?" Joffrey asked, still surprised by the news.

"Lady Stark and Lord Baratheon's sworn shield are believed to have murdered Lord Renly."

Joffrey's angry eyes bore into Sansa. "Once again, the Starks have proved to be traitors." As he walked out he called back, "Dog, you know what to do."

Sansa was still reeling from the news that her mother had actually murdered someone, especially Renly. The last she thought, they were allies. A movement caught her eye and her figure came under the Hound's shadow. He looked as though he were conflicted. "Do it," she said softly. Nothing. "Do it," she said, a tad louder. Still, the Hound stayed his hand. Sansa knew that if he didn't, Joffrey would know something was amiss – or at least Cersei would – and the Hound would pay for it. "Do it!" she commanded.

His hit was not gentle. Though, coming from a man like him, she hadn't expected it to be. But he had held back. If he had cared nothing about her at all, he could have easily caused irreparable damage. This offered her little comfort however as a second hit came across her stomach. Joffrey didn't like her face disturbed. She hadn't the strength to stand on her own after double hits and the news about her mother so ever so carefully, Sandor scooped her in his arms and slowly made his way back to her chambers. The guilt felt heavy on his shoulders as she lied limp in his arms. People stared, but to Sandor, it was a good thing. If everyone was convinced the Hound had beaten her severely, Joffrey might lay off for a while, securing both their positions.

The door to her room opened and he gently laid her on the bed. She didn't move a muscle but rather just stared at the wall. He checked the other rooms before returning to close the door. "Little Bird," he whispered. She moved her eyes over to his form and stared. He had no idea what to say next. But he knew this was getting to be a dangerous game for them both.

Sansa didn't blink as he searched for something to say. After a while, she moved her eyes back to the wall, ignoring his presence and blocking everything out. The door was slammed so hard that she could feel the vibration through the bed. He was angrier than usual. She realized now just how precarious her situation was. These feelings for Sandor had to be gotten rid of before someone noticed. He would be ordered to beat her even when she had done nothing wrong and she would grow to resent him for it. It was better to lay low and talk only when necessary. That's what he always did so why couldn't she?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor ordered enough wine to drown the city. He had hit her. Sansa Stark, who had only been kind to him, tried to encourage him, and wasn't disgusted when he told her about how his face had been burned. Sure, he was ugly and she still had a hard time looking at him, but she was always polite. And what does he do? He hits her. He should've said no. He should've taken Joffrey's head and smashed it against the wall. It wasn't fair to the poor girl. When she had answered Joffrey's statement about children, she looked right at him and said she would be happy to have his children. It was disconcerting and for a split moment, his breath had escaped. She had managed to shock the hell out of him. Children! Not even he could see himself holding a baby in his arms and rocking it to sleep. That took a certain kind of gentle, one that he knew he didn't have. He didn't want children; but Sansa did. A different kind of pain spread through his body as he pictured Sansa having another man's child. No man would be worthy of her, especially him. "Why did she have to go and do that?" he slurred at the painting on the wall. He took another swig from the jug and slammed it down hard on his table. He wondered what she was doing right at that moment. When he left, she had been staring at the wall – into oblivion. Was she sad? Angry? She had justifiable reasons for both. She trusted him. _"You're not like anyone else"_ she had stated. But now he was. He was in the same league as Meryn. His anger at the situation – Joffrey, Meryn, his feelings for Sansa – all came back in a flood and he threw the pot that held the wine into the wall as hard as he could. The crash bounced off the walls and into his pounding head. He couldn't take these damned feelings anymore! He would never be good or good enough for her. Death, killing, war: those were the things he excelled at. Love, gentleness, and romance: none of these were in him. One day, she would find a man worthy of her that had them.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"_When you're old enough, I'll make you a match with someone who's worthy of you: someone who is brave, gentle, and strong."_

Sansa turned her father's words around in her head for hours. The sun had begun to set and she hadn't moved in an inch. She missed her father. She missed all of her family of course, but her father especially. She needed him now not just to protect her, but to guide her. Hold her as she cried and tell her everything was going to be okay because he was here and as long as he was around, no one would harm her. What a stupid girl she had been, believing she loved Joffrey! If she had only obeyed her father's request to go back to Winterfell she wouldn't be in this prison. She wouldn't be beaten and she wouldn't be betrothed to a monster; a monster who wouldn't even hit her himself. He used other, stronger men to do his dirty work. She wasn't entirely sure how one could be both a coward and a monster, but Joffrey managed to make it work.

"Milady?" Shae asked gently. The maid sat next to Sansa and rested her hand on the girl's thigh. "Milady, you need to eat."

Sansa simply stared at the same spot on the wall. She was tired of fighting. She was tired of pretending. She was tired of being a little bird, constantly repeating words that had been instilled in her. The Hound had been more right than he probably intended by giving her that nickname. A deep sigh escaped as she thought about Sandor. The man obviously felt guilty for obeying the command, but she understood. It wasn't fair to either of them to have to continue this charade of trying to be something they're not. She felt a rub on her thigh as Shae tried to comfort her, but it was no use. The only person who she wanted around was probably drunk and cursing up a storm while fucking a whore into the seven hells. Plus, he had been the one to put her in this position to begin with. He was already a self loathing man but to put guilt on top of that didn't make for a good combination.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shae was walking back toward her chambers when a shadow stopped her. The Hound emerged, his breath smelt heavily of wine. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"How is she?"

"How do you think?" she snapped. "She gets beaten nearly every day while men stand by and do nothing." A cloud came over the large man and it made Shae think. "Why do you care?" she whispered, knowing that one of Littlefinger or Varys's spies could be lurking around.

"I don't," was the mechanical reply.

"You men," she mocked. "So brave and tough with a sword in your hand and yet when faced with a woman, you back away as though she were a disease."

Sandor's reflexes worked faster than his blurred mind and he rammed her into the wall. "Careful, woman," he warned. His voice was tough as he put as much hate as he could muster into it. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't? Then tell me this: why do you rush to her aid when no one else does?" Sandor squeezed Shae's neck roughly. "You can kill me, but that won't change what you feel for her."

Both their voices were barely audible as well as their movements. "What do you know of what I feel? A dog has no feelings."

"I know more about it than you think. And I can help you."

"I don't need help."

"You aren't exactly doing things to make the situation better now are you?"

He released his hold but kept close to her. "What do you want?"

"Nothing."

"Then why would you do this?"

"Because I know what it's like to have to keep a secret in this place."

He didn't say it, but then again, he didn't have to. "If you breathe a word about this to anyone-"

"I won't. That would mean my head too and I like my head, thank you very much." They didn't say anything for a while, but eventually, she added, "She isn't eating."

That didn't surprise him. "Okay."

"You asked how she was," she reminded him. "Her stomach is bruised and she just stares at the wall."

"It must be a very pretty wall."

Shae snorted in annoyance. "Perhaps you could limit your intake of wine. Constant drunkness is not a trait women admire."

"Then what am I supposed to drink?"

"You could try water."

A bark of laughter echoed through the dark hall. "Water. What good does water do to make me forget?"

"What would you be forgetting?"

He leaned in close and whispered, "Everything."

Shae pushed him back and smiled. "Some things aren't worth forgetting."

"Milady," Tyrion's voice called out. The dwarf walked cautiously up to where they were standing. "Is the Hound bothering you?"

"Not all my milord," she replied pleasantly. "I thought I heard a noise come from down the hall of my milady's room. He was helping me look."

Tyrion knew when someone was lying. "And have you found the source of your trouble?"

"We have."

"Good. May I ask how Lady Stark is? I heard she was injured today." He noticed the minute change in Sandor's eyes when he asked the question.

"She is not well, milord."

"Give her my regards if you please."

"I will. Good night, milord."

"Good night, Sheila."

"Shae," the brunette clipped.

"Right, sorry."

Though the exchange had been common enough, Sandor could tell Tyrion had taken to her. She never would have dismissed herself first if it had been anyone else. Oh yes, Shae was definitely having to hide her relationship too. Maybe the foreign girl would prove to be a useful ally considering she was involved with the Lannister – the only one of the lot who had a shred of decency in him.


	3. Rule Number One

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited. It's wonderful waking up to those emails. I know that in the last chapter, Sandor hit Sansa and in a way, I feel like I have to defend that decision. But I won't because a) this is important to the story and b) Sansa gets revenge in her own way in her own time :) *insert mysterious laughter* **

**P.S. Don't forget to review. It makes my muse very, very happy.**

Chapter 3: Rule Number One

A knock at the door had Tyrion Lannister rushing to scoot Shae behind his bed. He opened it carefully only to find the two whores he had sent his nephew in his sight. The Hound was carrying one of them – naked and badly beaten. Ros was barely holding in her sobs, not knowing if the king had ordered the Hound to beat her should she cry.

"What has he done?" Tyrion whispered. He quickly ushered them in and order the Hound to place the naked woman on his bed.

"His Grace ordered this one to beat the other," Sandor explained. "I was ordered to take them to you."

"My nephew did this?" When the Hound nodded, Tyrion brought him over. "Go get Maester Pycelle and then check on the Stark girl. I don't want her to suffer the same fate should the king not get all his desires sated tonight."

"Fuck Pycelle," Sandor growled. He marched out of the room and headed straight for Sansa's chambers. He knocked, hoping to the gods or whoever ruled the universe that Joffrey hadn't called for her. He knocked again, this time louder. When there was no answer, he kicked the door in - hard. It swung on its hinges as he drew his sword and searched her rooms in case someone was hiding. When he emerged from the adjoining bathroom, he found Sansa staring at him in the doorway.

"What's going on?"

He breathed a deep of relief, but he sheathed his sword to hide the noise. "I was ordered to make sure you were safe."

"In the middle of the night?"

"One never knows when bad things might happen." They stood there for an awkward moment: he in his armor and she in a thin nightgown. He cleared his throat loudly and pushed past her.

"Hound," she called out. Gods, she hated that name!

Sandor cringed at the use of his nickname. She must have been very upset because he knew she hated that name. "Yes, Lady Stark?"

"Close the door," she commanded. Well, that was unexpected. He carelessly put it back on track and shut it. "Sit."

"Little bird gives commands now," he sneered.

Sansa ignored the remark and walked up to him. Carefully, she placed her hand on his shoulder and said, "I'm okay."

He hated women's games. "That's good to know. I shall tell his Grace that you are feeling better."

He was mocking her, she knew that. But she didn't let it deter her. "No," she said forcibly. "I mean, I'm okay."

His head tilted as he let her meaning soak in. "You are, little bird?"

"I am."

"Then why have you not eaten?"

A dark cloud came over her eyes. "I miss my family."

Sandor wondered what that must feel like. "I'm sure you'll see them again, little bird."

"Are you?" she mused. "I am a prisoner whose only hope each day is that the king won't send his guards to hit me."

"And you think I enjoyed that, do you? Well, I didn't. You think it is easy to watch over someone you hate?"

"You hate everyone," she retorted.

Grey eyes moved over her face. "Not everyone, little bird." He shoved her hand away and stalked out.

Sansa moved back to her bed, but couldn't sleep. She hated the Hound; but she liked Sandor. She could see that he still felt guilty for hitting her and someday she would find a way to make him understand that she didn't think any less of him. If he hadn't hit her, someone else would – and it would have been worse because they wouldn't have taken it easy nor helped her afterward. She would catch him staring at her sometimes out of the corner of her eye when he thought she wasn't looking. How often did he do that? She resolved to catch him in the act next time; see if his stare was just her imagination.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What happened?" Shae asked.

"Joffrey made one of the whores beat the other one. You must go get Varys and tell him that Maester Pycelle is needed. Then, go to Sansa's room and stay there. I don't trust Pycelle to see you."

"I thought he was in the dungeons?"

"He was; my sister has decreed for me to release him. Go, before it becomes too late."

Shae did as she was told and after waking Varys, she headed down the hall to Sansa's room. She heard vague noises coming from inside but they seemed to be friendly, or at least civil. Standing against the wall, she recognized one of the voices as the Hound's. She heard Sansa tell him that he hates everyone, but Shae couldn't hear his response. The door opened and out came Sandor, giving her such a cold glare that she was frozen in place. "Is she okay?"

"See for yourself, woman."

"Wait," she called out softly. She followed his footsteps until they reached a dark corner.

Sandor turned on his heel, causing her to stumble backwards. He offered no help to balance her. "What?"

"What happened? Did you say anything to her about how you feel?"

Sandor was not in the mood for this. He clasped her neck hard and squeezed. "You speak of dangerous things."

Shae produced a short knife and held it to his neck. "You don't want to kill me."

"Why? Because you're a woman?" he snorted. "I've killed hundreds of them."

"No; because he likes his woman unarmed." She crushed the knife into his skin, but he didn't flinch.

The Hound released her from his grip roughly. "The only reason I haven't killed you for speaking is because she likes you. The moment that stops, you die. And no one will stop me."

"Must you always jump to the wrong conclusion?" Shae huffed. "I want to see her happy. I think she deserves it."

"And what do you think makes her happy?" He put as much mockery and contempt into his voice as possible.

"You." Sandor blinked at her. An echo filtered down the walls and the two stopped breathing. "We cannot talk here."

She had begun to walk away before he grabbed her arm tightly. "If you say a word to her, I will kill you."

Shae pulled her arm from his hand and smirked. "And if you say a word about what I've said, I will kill you."

He highly doubted she could do that, but he kept his mouth shut. He watched as she disappeared into Sansa's room and closed the door behind her. He shook his head as a headache started to form. He understood the game of thrones that the lords and highbornes liked to play; power is always lusted after. But this? This was so far out of his element, he wasn't sure he could survive. He had seen what became of people who carried secret trysts and got caught. He had seen what love and thoughts of love led people to do. Even if by some remote chance Shae was right and he made her happy, Sansa was not a good liar. Should someone question her about the smallest detail, she would be caught. He even had to back up her lie during the tournament at Joffrey's nameday celebration. The poor girl had too much of a gentle heart and often let it get the best of her. People were too afraid to question him, even kings, and the majority of them honestly believed he had no feelings; but the moment someone saw a change between them, the word would be out and there would be a hefty price to pay – and someone _always_ saw. Even Cersei and Jamie's relationship had become public and that was due to Bran Stark's fall in Winterfell! The memory reminded him that these feelings were not good for anyone. He could try to ignore her, but that was near impossible since they were around each other all the time. He had to stop looking at her though. That was a must. A look that lingered could trigger a landslide in King's Landing.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Sansa and Shae took a walk to the gardens.

"Where is the King's Hand?" Sansa asked quietly. "I wanted to speak to him about something."

"I believe he is meeting with the Queen," Shae replied. "Word has reached her about Lord Renly."

Sansa's beautiful face darkened at the thought. "She didn't kill him."

"I don't think she did either." Both women had come to learn that rule number one in King's Landing is no names.

The two walked around a bit as Sansa smelt the flowers that had blossomed. "Is there any other news that you've heard about?"

Shae brought her voice down to the lowest she could. "I have heard from a reliable source that Stannis Baratheon sails this way. He means to take the Iron Throne."

Sansa didn't even try to hide the smile that graced her lips. Stannis meant freedom. Her father and Stannis were allies. In fact, Stannis was the person her father had told first about Joffrey's real lineage. That had to mean something right? Shae cleared her throat as Ser Meryn approached. The smile disappeared instantly from Sansa. "My Lord," Sansa called.

"Lady Stark, the king requests your presence."

Doing as she was commanded, Sansa walked behind Ser Meryn until they reached Joffrey's chambers. Meryn opened the door and Sansa could see Joffrey; behind him stood Sandor. She walked further in and heard the door close behind her. "Your Grace," she said numbly.

"Hello, my lady," Joffrey replied. He sat on a seat and motioned for her to do the same. "I wanted to speak with you."

"Yes Your Grace." Sansa resisted the urge to look at Sandor, even though the burnt side of his face was all she could see. It turns out that even the ugly side was better than looking at Joffrey.

"I have a present for you." He snapped his fingers and the Hound produced a dress from the bed. "Do you like it?"

To her chagrin, she actually did. It was a beautiful dress: the deep green he said he liked on her with a low neckline to show off her growing breasts; it had some tiny diamonds lined up against the neck to call attention to her chest. "I love it," she smiled.

"Put it on," he demanded.

Sansa's eyes met his in a confused state. "Now?"

"Yes, now," Joffrey snapped.

Sansa looked around but didn't see anything to hide behind. "Where shall I change?"

"Right here." The smile that crept up on his lips disgusted Sansa. Her embarrassment at being naked in front of one man was enough, but Sandor? What if he thought she was ugly? "My Lady blushes," Joffrey said in an oddly kind manner. "You are so pure, so lovely."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

His smooth, tiny finger came under her chin to lift it. He had done that before, but unlike when Sandor would touch her, there was nothing thrilling about it. "I understand your concern." Sansa's heart beat against her chest at the king's words. Had his spies overheard something? She had been so careful not to use any names! "My dog beat you badly the last time. For that, I am sorry."

So he wasn't sorry about punishing her for something she didn't do? "It's all right, Your Grace."

"I know it is. Now, undress. I want to see if the dress does you justice." When Sansa didn't move, Joffrey added, "Should I have the Hound do it for you?"

Sandor's eyes met hers and all he saw was fear. It hit him right in the gut.

"No, My King."

"Don't worry about the dog," Joffrey assured. "He has no interest in beautiful things. Do you, dog?"

"No, Your Grace." Of course, that was a lie. Sandor was very interested in Sansa's beauty; but he wasn't interested in seeing her humiliated.

"See? Now, undress." At first, she went fast, wanting to get it over with quickly. But then Joffrey demanded she go slowly. "If you're making me wait so long for you to bleed, I should at least have an idea of what I'm waiting for."

Sansa didn't dare close her eyes as she slowly untied her dresses' strings. She also couldn't bear to look at Sandor. Having Joffrey think she was unattractive was one thing: she simply didn't care; but if Sandor got a look of disgust in his eyes, she would lose all her self esteem. She carefully let the dress fall to her ankles along with her underclothes. She had never been so embarrassed in her life. She glanced up to see that Sandor wasn't even watching her. She assumed that meant he wasn't interested. As her self confidence plummeted, Joffrey circled around her like a predator.

"Soon, I will have you in my bed every night," he said happily. His hand rested on her hip and he brought his lips to hers. "Now, put on the dress." She did so as gracefully as she could, wincing at the pain from her bruise. The dress fit perfectly. It elongated her figure as well as flattered it. The neckline went too low for her taste and the diamonds only drew even more attention to her chest, but the color was stunning on her and the fabric was comfortable. This time, the Hound was looking and his eyes showed not one ounce of disdain. "I like this dress best," Joffrey announced. "Now go. I have business to attend to. Dog, go with her."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The door wasn't even closed all the way before Sansa started running for her chambers. She didn't get very far as Sandor's hands closed on her, bringing her to a stop.

"You made me run, little bird," he panted. "I hate running." Sandor leaned against the wall to catch his breath when all of the sudden, Sansa burst into tears. She dropped onto the floor and her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs. Sandor had no idea what to do. Last time a woman cried, he killed her just so he wouldn't have to hear the noise. Although comfort was not his forte, he had to get her out of the hall before someone saw the spectacle. "Little bird," he said softly. He brought her chin up to look at her. "Stop crying." Her sniffles died out as the two stared at each other. He noticed that she was finally able to look at him – all of him – without sadness or pity; two worthless emotions in his opinion. "You're going to be all right."

Sansa couldn't tell him the reason why she was crying. He'd only laugh and mock her. Instead, she simply shook her head. "Why must you be so cruel?"

Wait. What? "Me?"

"Yes, you."

She was getting angry. Good, that was an emotion he could deal with. "What did I do to you, girl?"

Sansa merely huffed and pushed him away. She couldn't tell him anything; he wouldn't believe her even if she had. So she thought up the only thing to make her sound normal. "You hit me!"

Sandor moved back as though something had smacked him in the face. "What?"

"You hit me! I thought you were an honorable man!"

"I told you," he hissed. "I am not honorable nor a man. I can't help it if you weren't able to get that through your empty head."

At first, she was going to argue with him, but that would just lead to her being angry and no way to get rid it. Sansa straightened her appearance and tried to remember her courtesies. She would not become spiteful because of something that was out of her control. "You're right. I won't punish you for something that you had no control over. I refuse to be like the Queen: hateful and manipulative."

"Do you want to get killed?" he said in a dangerous tone. He pulled her into a dampened corner.

"I don't care!" she defended. "I don't care."

"Well I do!"

Ha! She got him to say something worthwhile! "Why? It's not your head that will be on a spike."

"That doesn't mean I want to see yours on one, girl."

"Why?" she pressed.

He sighed heavily as he looked at her. "I'm tired, girl. Even dogs need to sleep." He pushed her out into the hall and started walking. She came up beside him as they made their way down to her chambers. He kept his eyes straight ahead, afraid that if he looked over he would do something he would regret.

Sansa wished that he would just let her in. He was always down on himself and it irritated her to no end. He had hit her, yes. But she would heal. She always did. He wasn't even going to do it until she practically begged him to. Why couldn't he see that? She snuck a peek over and saw that he was staring ahead. She vaguely wondered what he was thinking about when he stopped outside her door. "Thank you, ser."

"I am no ser," he spat.

To both of their surprise, Sansa faced him and said in a defiant tone, "Yes, you are." She took hold of her doorknob and slammed the door in his face. She turned around and saw Shae standing there with her mouth open. "I just shut the door on the Hound," she said amusingly. For the first time in what felt like ages, Sansa let out a giggle.

Outside, Sandor allowed himself a tiny, but very fulfilling smile. It looked as though his little bird was starting to grow a little braver.


	4. A Little Bit of Wine Goes a Long Way

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews. As always, it makes me do a happy dance. I hope y'all like this new chapter. I know I'm updating this story really fast but since midterms are coming up, I'm afraid I'll have to slow it down to maybe two chapters a week. Just a warning should you notice a lack of everyday updates lol. Happy reading!**

Chapter 4: A Little Bit of Wine Goes a Long Way

"He's going to kill me," Sansa joked between giggles. She had no idea what prompted the fit of laughter, but she relished the feeling of her stomach aching from it rather than a punch.

Shae had a look of admiration on her face. "You were brave," she encouraged. "Not many soldiers would have the courage to do that to the Hound."

Sansa bit her lip to repress another smile. She was giddy. She wondered what else she could get away with doing to Sandor. A tease? A hug? _'A hug,'_ she thought. _'I wonder what that would be like with him.'_

Shae was just about to leave when she heard a noise outside. She quickly opened the door and saw the Hound standing there. How long had he waited? "What do you want?" she snipped.

"The Hand would like to speak to you," he called out to Sansa. "Now."

Sansa quickly wrapped a shawl around her and walked out with Shae by her side. The Hound lingered behind and watched as the two girls exchanged funny glances. He felt as though maybe he were being the butt of a joke, but wasn't quite sure. Either way, he didn't appreciate it. He knocked on the imp's door above their heads and waited until it was opened.

"Ah, Lady Stark. So good of you to come. Please, come inside. The rest of you as well. We don't anybody seeing the king's bodyguard and the lady's handmaid outside the Hand's office."

Sandor bowed his head slightly so that he wouldn't bang his head on the doorway. He took his place next to the doorway and leaned against the wall as he watched Sansa take a seat. Shae stood between her and Sandor. He glared at the back of her head as the dwarf started speaking.

"My lady," Tyrion said. He offered her some fruit, but she politely declined. "I heard you wanted to speak to me."

"I did," Sansa started. "But now, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why ever not?"

"I don't want to get anyone in trouble."

Sandor accidentally let out a snort, causing Shae and Tyrion to give him looks. Sansa ignored the sound.

"I understand," Tyrion replied. "Rest assure that if I thought either of these two would say a word, I would not have let them come in." Normally, Tyrion didn't trust anyone, including himself. But he knew the Hound had a soft spot for the Stark girl and Shae...well, he knew he was the only person Shae talked to besides Sansa. No one ever talked to the Hound unless ordered to and he never spoke unless commanded – and even then, the man could lie almost better than any high borne.

Sansa shifted uncomfortable for a moment before asking, "I was wondering if you've heard anything about my family."

Her voice was so soft, had Tyrion been any smaller, he wouldn't have heard it. "No, my lady. I have not." He spoke gently, not wanting to make her upset. "I know you must be lonely here, but I can tell you this: you do have allies. I would like nothing more than to see you get home safely and in one piece. But I'm afraid this war has become bigger than anyone anticipated. Until your brother releases my brother and we can trade, I am deeply sorry to say that you must remain here."

"What about Arya?"

Now it was Tyrion's turn to be uncomfortable. "We have not been able to locate her."

"I would give up trying," Sansa said confidently. It was hard to discern which attitude was more prominent: defiance or surrender. "If Arya doesn't want to be found, then she will do everything she can to hide."

He knew better than to admit it, but Tyrion knew she was right. Arya was the most wanted girl in the seven kingdoms. And she had disappeared without a trace. "I hope you're right," he said mysteriously.

A sudden rush of sisterly pride came over Sansa. "I know I am." She looked back at Shae and Sandor with hesitancy before asking, "Would it be okay if I spoke to you in private?"

"Of course, my lady." He looked up at the two behind Sansa and ordered them out. When the door had shut, he turned his attention back to the redhead. "What is on your mind?"

"I was thinking about your offer the other day – the one where you wanted to know if I desired to end the engagement." She took a deep breath to gather herself and continued. "What happens if I do? What will happen to me?"

"Probably the same as if you were married to him," Tyrion replied bluntly. A look of alarm came over Sansa's face and he couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor girl. "Have I shocked you?"

Even though she shook her head, she took a cup of Tyrion's wine and gulped it down much like she did when she dined with Cersei and her children. "Will he continue to have me beaten?"

"Most likely. And when you bleed, he will take you without mercy." He watched Sansa gulp down another mouthful. "I am not proud of my nephew. I wish with all my heart that he would be the man you want."

Sansa almost said that it didn't matter if Joffrey had every good quality under the sun. He would have only fed into her fantasy about honorable knights, charming princes, and fairytales. She may have _wanted_ that before; but she _needed_ something else entirely now. Someone rough on the outside but had a gentle heart when necessary. Someone who taught her that life isn't fair and things don't always turn out the way you want, but would comfort her anyway. Someone who knew what it was like to feel unloved. Someone like Sandor.

"My Lady?"

Tyrion's voice brought her out of her inner thoughts. He had a worried expression on his face so Sansa took one last large drink of the sour wine and stood up. She swayed slightly having never had that much before. "Thank you for your time, Lord Tyrion," she said sincerely.

Tyrion opened the door and called for the Hound. Both men stared at her glazed expression, though Sandor was thoroughly amused. "Make sure she doesn't hit her head on her way back," he commanded.

Sandor did as told and stalked behind her. Shae had lingered behind, probably for the rest night he figured. Sansa tripped on her shoe and started giggling uncontrollably as he caught her just in time before her head hit the ground. "Watch yourself, little bird," he teased. She busted into another fit of laughter. "What's so funny, girl?"

"My father would be furious if he saw me right now," she snickered.

"Yes," Sandor smiled roughly. "I'm sure he'd be shocked to see his little princess drunk and coming from the Hand's room."

Sansa spit out a raspberry at his tone. "That's not what I meant, Sandor." He had to stop for a moment at the use of his given name. "Besides, I would never give myself to that man. I think he slept with all the whores in Winterfell when he came."

For the second time in five minutes, Sandor was left speechless. Sansa Stark – princess of Winterfell, who acted with grace and virtue even when being beaten – had just said the most unkind sentence he'd ever heard her say. "Do you have any idea what you just said?"

"Of course I do," she defended. She whirled around and faced him. Her cheeks burned and her body felt flushed. "I don't feel so well."

"How many cups did you have?" he asked, bringing his hand to her head.

She pushed it away roughly. "I feel funny when you do that," she blurted out. "And I only had one."

Another snort came from him. "One?"

"I hate that sound," she snapped. "It makes me feel like a child."

"You are a child." He turned her around and they started walking again.

"Just until I get my blood. Then what are you going to call me?"

He hadn't thought about that. "That depends on if you still sing the pretty songs they've taught you."

Sansa scoffed at his words. "Liar. You know you'd call me a woman."

"If that's how you act, then yes."

"What about how I look?"

His hand on her shoulder stiffened. "What do you mean, girl?"

"I mean," she blinked innocently. "I don't look like a girl. The queen says I'm filling out nicely."

Sandor swallowed hard. "Then the king will be pleased." He instantly regretted his words as Sansa paled. She looked as though she might faint. "Little bird?"

"Don't call me that," she said morosely. "You can't call me that after you say such horrible things. It isn't nice."

Sandor's stomach dropped. She wasn't crying and she wasn't upset; she was...disappointed. He shook his head violently. Seven hells, what was this girl doing to him? "I'm sorry." Good gods, that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sansa let her blue eyes focus on his face. She remembered her dream from a few nights ago and said without thinking, "Don't change your face."

"What would I be changing it to, little bird?"

"Something you think looks better."

"You like my scars, little bird?" he mocked. He couldn't help but scorn her. It was a defense mechanism.

"I do," she replied.

"You don't know what you're saying, little bird." He led her down the rest of the way to her chambers, where she leaned against the door.

"I don't feel good," she moaned.

"It'll pass."

"It's not the wine," she groaned. "It's my stomach." She put her hand on her lower belly and pressed. The pain was intense and it nearly crippled her.

Sandor reached out and scooped her up. She had doubled over when his hand went to her waist. His one solace was that at least she wasn't pregnant. "We're almost there," he said gently. He carefully placed her on the bed and filled a cup with water. He took a sniff of it and grimaced. Wine smelt better. "Drink this, girl."

Sansa placed the cup to her lips and fell back on her pillow. She watched as Sandor headed for the door and said, "Thank you."

He nodded once and closed the door softly, leaving her alone. The pain subsided for the time being, but she felt weird.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

During Sansa's talk with Tyrion, Sandor stood outside with Shae.

"I wonder what they're talking about," she mused.

"I'm sure you'll find out later on," he said gruffly. He began to pace back and forth down the hall.

"I think it must be her asking for a way out of the marriage," she whispered to herself.

Sandor stopped his pacing and stared at her. "What do you mean? She wants out?"

Shae rolled her dark eyes at him. Men. "Of course she does. No woman in their right mind would want to marry that boy."

Sandor shook his head at Sansa. Her naivety was starting to show. "That girl is a pup in the midst of the lion's den," he stated sadly. Shae nodded in agreement. The girl was smart in the way of knowing how to act in public; in private, she was careless. She still didn't seem to understand that everyone eventually heard everything in King's Landing. Once in a while someone got away with something for a little bit, but it would always come back to bite them in the ass. Sansa, as valuable as she was at the moment, wouldn't be the moment she was traded. Once the Lannister's had the Kingslayer back, Sansa wouldn't get three miles before they killed her, especially since Joffrey was on the throne.

"We have to protect her."

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?"

"You are in a better position than I am."

"You can't be that stupid, woman," he spat. "I'm the king's sworn shield; I can't just up and leave my post whenever I want to. I can't be around her every minute of the day." That didn't mean he didn't want to be...

"Well, I am only her handmaid," Shae defended. "It will be suspicious if I go with her everywhere."

The two had come to an impasse. "What about that sellsword?"

Shae shook her head. "I don't know. I could ask... but he's in the same position as you. He can't be around her too much – no man can."

She was right. Cersei or one her men would find it strange that at least one of the king's guard was around Sansa more than need be, especially if the two men were the Hound and the captain of the guard. "Nor a woman." Again, Shae agreed. His little bird was going to have be alone sometimes. And that thought did not sit well with him.

"What are we going to do about tomorrow?" Shae sighed.

"Tomorrow?"

"The princess is being sent to Dorne," she whispered. "The preparations have been made and she sails tomorrow."

Sandor had forgotten about that. "The dwarf tells you more than he should."

"He is not my only source," she smirked mischievously.

The door swung open and Sandor saw Sansa's expression. He looked to Tyrion for an explanation. "Make sure she doesn't hit her head on her way back."

The entire way back to her chambers, Sandor repressed a chuckle. He had to keep a firm hand on her shoulder so that she wouldn't bump into the walls. She tripped on something and he rushed to catch her before she landed. He was thrown off by her laughing; it had been a long time since she'd done it. "What's so funny, girl?"

"My father would be furious if he saw me right now."

Her slurred snicker made him smile out of pure amusement. "Yes," Sandor smiled roughly. "I'm sure he'd be shocked to see his little princess drunk and coming from the Hand's room." His lips twitched into a wry smile at her response.

"That's not what I meant, Sandor."

He stopped and looked solemnly at her. She had never used his name before. He decided it was the only time he liked someone calling him by his given name.

"Besides, I would never give myself to that man. I think he slept with all the whores in Winterfell when he came," she continued.

Sandor remembered that trip well. The dwarf had indeed fucked nearly every whore in the brothel and then woke up next to goats. "Do you have any idea what you just said?" he asked in awe. He was quite proud of her boldness. Their talk went along fine until she talked about her looks. Sandor had never been good with compliments. He tried his best to steer the conversation into safe territory, but it seemed she was determined to resist. When he made the remark about the king, her eyes dulled and she became withdrawn. His apology seemed to pacify her; even it was painful to do. But just when he thought he was safe again, she blurted out something about his face. Her strange answers to his questions made him think it was the wine talking. Suddenly, she collapsed and he knew she was in pain. It seemed to be pretty bad judging from her groans. After he placed her on the bed, he poured some water for her. The pain seemed to ebb the more she drank so he started to take his leave. He heard a thank you from across the room and nodded.

Afterward, he walked down to where his room was located and almost poured himself a drink. Sansa's face came into view and he released the laugh that he held inside. He had never laughed at something because it was simply funny. He laughed when people would run from him or try to fight him, but never because of something so simple. He poured the cup and saluted in the direction of Sansa's room. "Here's to you, little bird." One day, he'd have a cup with her. And maybe he'd teach her how to hold her wine a bit better. He took off his armor and climbed into bed. Before he knew it, he was asleep. But unlike his usual nightmares with only Gregor, this time there was a guest.

"_You like my scars, girl?" Sandor mocked._

"_I do."_

_Sandor stood in the hall, watching her walk away. He had turned to go to his room when he heard a scream. Running as fast as he could, he kicked in the door to Sansa's room and drew his sword. His eyes were drawn to her bed as he saw his brother on top of Sansa. The girl was fighting him as best she could, but it was no use. Gregor was called the Mountain for a reason. Sandor pushed Gregor away and brought Sansa to stand behind him. _

"_Run," he hissed. _

"_No. I want to stay with you."_

"_Run, now. Or I'll kill you myself." There was no motion, so he turned around and gave her all the spite he could muster. "Now, you stupid girl!" Sansa fled and Sandor heard his brother laughing. _

"_You think a pretty thing like that wants anything to do with you?" he laughed._

"_Shut up."_

"_Or what? What will you do? I can still burn you, you know. This time, I won't use fire."_

"_You come near her and I'll kill you."_

"_I'd like to see you try. And after you fail trying, I'm going to kill you. And then I'll rape your little cunt until she can't walk."_

Sandor woke up to his shirt drenched in sweat. He knew it was only a dream, but it felt so real. He gulped down the wine straight from the pitcher, not bothering with a cup. His hands were shaking and his breath was coming short. "Get a hold of yourself, Clegane," he told himself. He looked out the window and guess that it was just before dawn. Sansa wouldn't up be for another couple of hours. He had noted a while back when he first took watch over her chambers that she preferred to sleep in. Still, the dream had shaken him so he put on his clothes and headed for her room. No one was up but the servants in the kitchen so he was able to walk without people seeing him. He opened the door slightly and saw Sansa lying asleep in her bed. Her chest was rising and falling heavily due to the deep sleep induced by the wine. He poked his head in long enough to glance around the room and make sure no one was in there.

"Sandor."

His gaze flew back to the bed and for a horrifying moment, he thought she had woken. But instead, she just mumbled his name over and over again. He wanted to go to her and tell her that he was here. Nothing was going to happen. But if he did and one of her new handmaids came in and saw it, he'd either be killed or he would have to kill her. He didn't have a problem with the latter except he had a feeling that Sansa would not like that. Instead, he simply backed out and quietly shut the door to head back to his chambers. The king would be up soon and today was the day that Princess Myrcella sailed for Dorne.


	5. Sansa's Knight in Black Armor

**A/N: Well, here's the chapter where everything starts to come together. Princess Myrcella sails off and King's Landing experiences a riot. I did it mostly from Sandor's POV because we saw what happened to Sansa in the show. **

**P.S. Don't forget: Review comes right after reading. Just click on that little review button and you will make me one very happy writer.**

**P.P.S. I did make some changes to the story from its original upload. I agreed with a review that the near rape scene just wasn't what it should have been. Just an fyi.**

Chapter 5: Sansa's Knight in Black Armor

Sansa hadn't realized how long her hair had gotten until now. It was also much darker than it used to be. She felt taller too; nearly all her old clothes from Winterfell came above her ankle. The Queen had ordered a dress for Sansa especially for this day. The color was a mix of pale pink with some purple undertone to it. Coincidentally, it was the same color that she had worn the day Joffrey had forced her to look at her father's head on its spike.

The subtle message wasn't missed.

"I don't understand why I have to go," Sansa sighed heavily. She had no interest in watching Myrcella sail off into freedom while she stayed imprisoned at the Red Keep. It wasn't fair.

"You know why, milady," Shae replied.

Both girls grew silent when the new handmaiden walked in. She brought some flowers for Sansa's bath and went about her business. But Sansa knew she was a spy for Cersei. Nearly everyone was. After she donned her dress, the new maid was ready to work on her hair.

Sansa had grown to loathe the hairstyle. The more she looked at it, the more it looked like a bird's nest perched on her hair. "Make it smaller," she demanded. "I don't want it so...poofy."

She caught Shae's smirk in the reflection and it made her smile. At least someone agreed with her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor was waiting outside Joffrey's chambers. Being the king's sworn shield meant that he and a few other chosen guards would be escorting the king and the rest of the royal party to the landing and back. There were no words to adequately describe how much he did not want to do this. He didn't give a flying fuck about the bastard's little sister. That wasn't saying much really because except for Sansa, he cared for everyone else about the same as he cared for Gregor.

"Come on dog," the blonde idiot commanded.

Sandor walked behind the short king until they got to Cersei's chambers.

The Queen came out with Myrcella in tow. Kissing her only daughter, Cersei handed her over to the girl's septa and turned to her eldest son. "How are you today, Your Grace?" she said formally.

"Tired," Joffrey snipped. "Why must we do this? I don't care if she goes or not."

"She is your sister and a princess," Cersei explained. "It is expected that the king be present when his family is shipped away."

The group started walking again when Joffrey brought up Sansa. "Why is Sansa coming?"

"She is your betrothed. It is expected of her to attend as well." Cersei stopped and looked at her son with a serious expression. "As far as your people know, there is nothing wrong between you two. When you are out in public, you shall uphold that belief."

Joffrey sighed with pure annoyance. "Fine. I hope she at least looks nice today."

"Of course she will, my sweet. She wants to please you."

"Then she should bleed," he snapped. He pushed past the Queen and strode down the main hall to wait for Sansa.

Sandor wanted nothing more than to beat the brat's head in. Sansa always looked nice even after being beaten and crying. A cry of "Finally" from Joffrey had Sandor looking at the stairs. His heart skipped slightly at the sight of Sansa. She seemed to be floating down the stairs in a beautiful gown. It looked a size too big, but he didn't care. Careful not to stare for too long, he shifted his gaze behind her to Tyrion, who was paying his compliments to her.

Sansa looked to where her betrothed was standing and then to her crush behind him. Joffrey looked pleased with her outfit but it was Tyrion who said something nice. "Thank you, my lord," she replied politely. She hadn't really paid attention to what he was saying. She just wished that Shae was able to come rather than these other maids. At least then she'd have someone to talk to.

"Shall we?" Tyrion suggested.

She smiled courteously and took her place behind Joffrey and the rest of the Lannisters. She caught a glimpse of Sandor's face before the doors opened and allowed herself a moment of happiness. The knowledge that he was here relaxed her somewhat, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor got a small smile out of Sansa when they reached the shoreline. He had headed down the steps first and watched as everyone took their places. Sansa was directed to stand behind the king but as she did so, she threw him a tiny smile. He didn't show any expression but rather stared back out to the water, where Myrcella being taken away. The priest was starting to grate on his nerves to the point where Sandor just wanted to cut the man's tongue out. He heard a sniffling noise to his left and saw the king's brother crying. Well, there was one Lannister who still had a heart. _'Too bad it won't last long,'_ he thought grimly. _'It's only a matter of time with Cersei as his mother.'_

"One day I pray you love someone," the Queen said. Sandor turned slightly to hear her conversation, even though Cersei wasn't exactly whispering. "I pray you love her so much that when you close your eyes you see her face. I want that for you. I want you to know what it's like to love someone – to truly love someone – before I take her from you."

Sandor's face fell slightly at hearing the Queen's words. She was a heartless bitch if ever he met one and if she could do that without any slight of guilt toward her own brother, she would have nothing to lose by doing it to him. It hammered home the basic reason Sandor could never really be with his little bird. No one was safe in King's Landing. Granted, Tyrion was the only one who had any brains between the Lannister trio, but that didn't mean he was a god. There was only so much protection he and Sandor could give Sansa. If the Queen ever got wind of his desires or even suspected (which he highly doubted because again, no one thought he had feelings) that he was halfway on his way to falling in love, a fate worse than death would await them both.

Another sniffle from the prince drew him back to reality. Joffrey looked like he was utterly disgusted.

"He sounds like a cat mewling for his mother," he spat. "Princes don't cry."

Sansa thought Joffrey had some nerve saying that considering he had her wolf and that butcher's boy killed when Nymeria bit him. He cried then. "I saw you cry," she retorted.

"Did you say something my lady?" Joffrey challenged.

Unlike the incident at his nameday, Sansa wasn't scared of Joffrey's reaction this time. "My little brother cried when I left Winterfell," she explained.

"So?"

"It seems a normal thing." Her tone held as much condescension as she dared to put in it.

"Is your little brother a prince?" he shot back.

_Technically..._ "No."

"Not really relevant then, is it?" Joffrey turned his back and snapped, "Come on, dog."

Sandor had heard the exchange between the two and it made him even angrier than usual. He loathed the king almost as much as he loathed his brother.

On the way back to the Keep, Sandor stuck close to Joffrey. He could feel the tension in the air, but none of the other dimwits in armor did and regardless of how he felt about Joffrey, he was the king's sworn shield. But Joffrey just ignored his people and kept walking. Sandor heard a few remarks about the king being a bastard, which solidified the bad feeling stirring in his veins. His mind raced to Sansa and he took a quick peek back to check on her, making sure to disguise it as a scan of the crowd. She looked okay – depressed, but okay. Much like the rest of the royal party, her mind seemed to be on other things.

They continued walking but Sandor could sense something wasn't right. The crowd was too riled up to stay content in their spaces. The cries from the crowd reached a fever pitch and suddenly, a cow pie landed squarely on Joffrey's face. Instinct kicked in and Sandor drew his sword. Deep down, he had to hand it to the man who threw the shit – he would've bought that man a pitcher of ale for it.

"Who did that?" Joffrey screeched. "Find who did that and bring him to me!"

Sandor kept his face blank and his hand steady on the king's shoulder. But inside, he rolled his eyes at the stupid boy's reaction.

"Kill them! Kill them all!"

Chaos would probably be the best word Sandor could use to describe how everything went. The people attacked guards and each other in a frenzy of hunger and resentment toward the royal family. When Tyrion yelled for everyone to move, Sandor wrapped his arm around the king and started dragging him toward safety.

"What are you doing? I want these people executed!"

"They want the same for you!" Sandor threw back.

The crowd was being cut down by the other guards and yet they never seemed to make any progress. It was frustrating but exhilarating at the same time. Sandor unleashed the Hound and let all the fury he held inside, back out with a vengeance. Somehow, over the clatter, he heard the dwarf ask about Sansa. He handed the king off to another guard and started looking around to see if she had gone in with everyone else, but then he remembered that she had been behind him. A man tried to hit him with a stone, which irritated him, and he thrust his sword into the attacker easily. He looked around and saw a red nest on a head that belonged to Sansa. He went after her, but she disappeared behind the walls. A few men gave chase and _that_ made his blood boil. He knew what they had in mind and he would be damned if it happened on his watch.

As people started attacking each other, Sandor cut his way through anyone that dared to cross his path. He had lost track of her for a moment until his gut told him to go left. He did so and went through a maze of passages, getting angrier with each step. He had to reach her before something happened. The thought of those men sticking their little pricks anywhere near Sansa made him go blind with fury. Panic set in as he realized he had lost her for a moment; but then a half scream came from a few doors down and Sandor raced to the spot. Wild ideas had already started to form in his mind's eye, bringing him closer to the point of being furious that he was too late. Inside the room he could see the man unbuckling his belt and Sansa writhing on the floor, trying to escape the clutches of two other men. He heard her screams get caught up in her throat and he let out a feral growl that came from deep inside him. His nightmare about Gregor raping his little bird came back to him and everything became red. Unchecked, he let his aggression and anger take over as he grabbed the man from the floor. Looking the guy straight in the eyes so that he could watch the life drain from the man's face, he thrust his blade into the man's stomach, spilling his intestines. Tossing him aside, he reached for the next man who had held one of Sansa's legs and stuck his knife deep into the man's back. The next fool tried to run, but got caught in the Hound's grasp. The Hound had already decided that none of these men would survive so turning his back to Sansa, he slit the man's throat admist his cry of help and sheathed the knife. The man who hadn't held her down cowered in the corner. Since he hadn't touched Sansa, the Hound simply ignored him. He took a quick breath to calm down and turned back to face her. Her eyes were wide and full of pure fear. She looked petrified as she lay on the floor with her dress ripped and hair messed up. "You're all right now, little bird. You're all right." He sounded much calmer than he felt as he scooped her up gently to put her over his shoulder. Her body was shaking from fear and he could tell she wanted to cry. But she was safe now and that was all that mattered. He kept a firm grasp on her legs so that she knew he wasn't going to let anything happen to her and he headed toward safety.

Sansa saw the men on the floor, their guts and blood staining the hay beneath them. She'd never forget the scene. A hand wrapped around her leg and kept a firm grip the entire time they were making their way back to the gate. Despite the chaos surrounding them, Sansa had never felt more safe than she did on the Hound's shoulder.

Once inside, Sandor slid her off his shoulder gently and on to the seat connected to the wall. Her breath was coming short and it had him worried that she would pass out.

Tyrion looked concerned as dirt covered her face and there was a cut as well. "Are you hurt, my lady?"

Even though Sansa shook her head, Sandor remarked, "Little bird is bleeding. Someone take her back to her cage – see to that cut." He tried to keep his voice steady, but the fact was that he had been scared for her – scared that he wouldn't get there in time. The two of them made eye contact as her maids led her away. Her face was laced with terror and guilt overwhelmed him that he didn't get to her sooner. Thinking about those men, he had never felt more hateful in his entire life. He would have brought them back from the dead and killed them again - slowly - for what they wanted to do to her.

"Well done, Clegane," Tyrion rushed out.

"I didn't do it for you," he replied roughly. He marched back to the keep to make sure the king was safe and found him venting to his mother.

"I don't care about the Stark girl!" he seethed. "They attacked me! I want them dead!"

"Be calm, my sweet," Cersei said gently. "If you execute them, we will die."

"What do you mean?" Joffrey asked, confused.

"Those people make the bread, wine, clothes...everything we use. If you kill them all, everyone will run. You can give chase, hunt them down and kill them. But it wouldn't change the situation of not having anything to eat, drink, or wear. Yes, they attacked you, but they are starving. Desperate people do desperate things."

"They will pay," he retorted.

"They know that. But for the moment, they just want some food." Cersei watched her son start to calm down. "Hound, make sure no harm comes to my son on his way to his rooms."

Sandor did as commanded and walked behind his king until they reached his chambers.

"Why did you go after the Stark girl?" Joffrey asked. "Your first loyalty is to me, not some stupid girl."

"I beg pardon Your Grace, but that stupid girl is rather valuable at the moment. Should she have died or been harmed, the Stark boy would have retaliated against your uncle."

Joffrey seemed to buy Sandor's explanation. "I suppose that's true." They stood together outside the door for a few moments before Joffrey spoke again. "Did they rape her?"

"No, Your Grace."

"Pity. She could have used the practice."

Sandor let out a growl the moment Joffrey shut his door. He shouldn't have been surprised though after what happened with the whores. The tiny king had a penchant for violence. In other words, Joffrey was the blonde, richer version of Gregor. And Sansa was going to be wed to him. The thought itself made him sick. "Fuck, I need wine."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Milady!" Shae exclaimed. She rushed over to the redhead and put her arm around the girl's waist.

"I'm okay," Sansa said as she was helped to her bed. She got rid of her maids the moment she sat, leaving just her and Shae.

"What happened?" the brunette asked.

"There was a riot."

A soft knock at the door interrupted the moment. Shae opened it to see Tyrion standing in the doorway. "My lord," she bowed.

"Might I speak with the Lady alone for a moment?" he asked kindly. Shae nodded and left quietly, shutting the door on her way out. "My Lady, I hope my visit doesn't make you uncomfortable."

"No, my lord."

"I wanted to see for myself how you were." He looked her over with a pensive expression. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay. The Hound – he saved me."

"Yes, I saw. Have you seen him by chance? I wanted to talk to him."

"No, my lord. I was ordered to come back here."

"A good decision for certain. Let's get that cut taken care of shall we? Oh, how do you like your maid – Sheila, was it?"

"Shae."

"Shae. Yes, I have to remember that."

"I like her very much. She's very kind." Sansa dared not say anymore.

"Good. I'm sorry to take up your time. Please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, my lord." He gave her a warm smile and took his exit, sending Shae back in.

"Is everything okay?"

"He asked about the Hound," Sansa replied.

Shae smiled tightly at the girl. The young woman seemed to have gone off in her own world. "Let's get you a warm bath."

Sansa stared at her reflection while the bath was getting ready. She gently pulled the twists and knots out of her hair, leaving it a red mess. Her face had a cut where the man hit her and it was bleeding. Dirt and hay was stuck to her body and clothes. They were reminders of what could have happened had Sandor not come along. He may not be her knight in shining armor like Ser Loras, but he was her knight nonetheless. His armor was just a different color, dimmed by the anger that constantly consumed him. If it were up to him, he would probably have every part of his armor in black to reflect what he thought was the color of his soul.

A soft smile came to her lips as she imagined Sandor in that color. _'My knight in black armor,'_ she mused to herself.

"It's ready," Shae announced.

Sansa said her thanks before slipping into the hot water. She sat for a moment and let the warmth soak into her skin before dunking her head under. On the surface, she could see her hair floating above and spreading out into individual strands. She closed her eyes and tried to relax but when she did, the men's faces flashed across her memory. She shook her head to get rid of them but they didn't budge.

The man's breath on her neck when he asked if she had ever been fucked lingered in her memory; his hollow eyes that held nothing but contempt for her etched itself into her brain – all of it was swimming around in her mind. She could see them clear as day; as though they were standing over her again. She closed her eyes and tried to retreat into better thoughts, but those men refused to leave. One them brandished a knife and stuck into her chest.

Sansa screamed under the water, choking on it during the process. She grasped the edge of the bathtub and pulled herself up. The water burned her lungs and she couldn't breathe.

Shae burst into the room and saw the girl clutching the edges with all her strength. She was crying though it was hard to tell since drops of water were cascading down her face. She rushed to the young girl's side and gently led her out of the water. Sansa collapsed on the floor, bringing Shae with her. She wrapped her arms around the redhead's naked shoulders and pulled her close to let her sob. "It's all right," she cooed. She gently stroked Sansa's wet hair and rocked her softly, making sure that there were no sudden movements.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Clegane," Tyrion called. "Please, come in."

Sandor strode into the Hand's inner chambers. It was the only place Tyrion somewhat trusted to talk about such delicate things. "My lord," Sandor addressed.

"Take a seat, Hound. I only want to talk." Sandor did as commanded but didn't say a word. "Not one for conversation are you?" he teased lightly. "Then again, you never have been."

Sandor wondered what the little man had planned. They had never talked alone before save for a few times in Winterfell. "Yes, my lord."

"Enough with the formalities," Tyrion chided. "You saved my nephew and Lady Stark today. I'd say that act of bravery deserves some wine. I know how fond you are of it." He handed a cup to Sandor and smiled. He watched as the man took a sniff of it first then downed it. This was one of the few times Tyrion wasn't entirely confident in how to bring such a sensitive subject so he went with his favorite tactic: brutal honesty. "How long have you been in love with Sansa Stark?"

Had Sandor been drinking, he would have choked on his wine. "What?"

"Don't get upset. I know how to keep a secret."

"I am not in love with that girl."

"Might I remind you that I am neither my sister nor Joffrey; I stay alive because of what I see and hear. And what I saw and heard today was nothing short of love – not that I'm an expert at it mind you." Sandor didn't say a word as Tyrion took a seat across from him. "I certainly don't blame you: she's a very beautiful girl on the cusp of womanhood. Men have started to notice her beauty in a different light now. Why should you be any different?"

"I am the king's dog," Sandor replied quietly.

"Only to the king you are. To Sansa, you are a knight in shining armor."

"Stupid girl."

"Naïve, yes. Stupid? Certainly not. Do not mistake her compliancy for happiness, Clegane. She is as unhappy about her betrothal to the king as you are."

"What do you want, dwarf?"

"What are you offering?" When Sandor didn't say anything, another smile grazed Tyrion's lips. "See, unlike the rest of my family, I have no desire to see others suffer due to my hunger for power. The truth is that I am rather confused at your choice. There are plenty of women who would like the honor of taming the infamous Hound. Why her?"

"Because she doesn't want to tame the Hound," Sandor shrugged.

"You are a very mysterious and complicated man, my friend. Just when I think I have you figured out, you do this. What am I supposed to make it? When Sansa and the king are married, whose sons will she give birth to: the king or the Hound's?" Sandor reached for his knife at Tyrion's blunt words. "Oh, put it away, Clegane. I meant no offense. What you do is your business; however, Sansa deserves to keep her honor wouldn't you agree?"

"Aye."

"Do you know what would happen should anyone else figure this out?"

"The king would have our heads," Sandor mocked.

"Heads? No, no, no. He wouldn't give you a quick death – nor her, probably. No, I'll tell you what would happen. You and Sansa would be brought before the court. Joffrey would mostly likely have you in chains and force you to watch as she was raped by every member of the kingsguard; then, after they were through, he would beat her within an inch of her life. He'd bring her outside into the square just as he did with her father and force her to speak about her crimes. After that, he'd either strip her of her status as a lady and then put her on the street to be beaten and raped; or he would keep her as a prisoner and continue to have her tortured and raped until he got tired of looking at her. You saw what he did to those whores. Look me in the eye and tell me he wouldn't do worse to a woman he truly hated."

Sandor took the pitcher of wine and drank from it.

"As for you," Tyrion continued. "He would mostly force you to stay in the kingsguard so that you would have to watch everything. Or he might show you some mercy and let you live far away from here, never to see her again."

"I'd come back for her," Sandor pledged.

"You could try. But we all know my nephew isn't the type to give up his toys easily."

"I could cut every single one of those men down in seconds."

"And then what? You two would live happily ever after? Clegane, I'm disappointed. You were never one to believe in happy endings. With a boy like Joffrey on the throne, he'd get pleasure out of watching Sansa cry over whatever fate the two of you were sentenced to." Sandor looked down at the floor before chugging back another gulp. "You see, Clegane, this would never be about you. You could run away and the Queen might hunt you down, but Joffrey wouldn't. Sansa...is a different matter entirely. He already punishes her for her brother's actions; what do you think he'll do when it comes to light that his trusted sworn shield wants to fuck his future queen?"

"I do not want to fuck her!" Sandor bellowed.

"Fine, make love," Tyrion corrected. "The point is that the Starks are our number one enemy at the moment. You really think Joffrey would let you live knowing how you feel about his betrothed?"

"The little king has no fucking brains."

"True enough, but his mother does."

"Fuck your riddles, imp."

"Let's not resort to name calling," Tyrion sighed. "I understand your trepidation. Emotions are a dangerous thing to possess in King's Landing, especially when you are at court. Have no fear Clegane. I shall keep your little secret to my dying day." He met Sandor's glare and laughed. "You don't trust me," he stated. "Fair enough. You may not like me, but you have saved Lady Stark, which has in turn saved my head. I am in your debt and you know what they say about Lannisters and debt."

"Aye, I do. I don't want your promises, dwarf."

"Then what do you want?"

"To be left alone."

"As much joy as that would give me, I can't turn my back on what I know. I'm in no position to tell you how you should or shouldn't feel; but I will caution you. If you truly want to keep her safe, you will discourage her from reciprocating these feelings."

Sandor made no movement or sound for quite some time. He was letting the gravity of the situation slowly sink in. Tyrion was right as always. "Are we done?"

Tyrion nodded once and walked him to the door. "Remember what I said, Clegane. I'll do my best to help, but it is up to you how things go from here."

Without waiting to be dismissed, Sandor lurched the door opened and walked out. He took the case of wine with him as he left. The dwarf had plenty at his disposal. "Fuck the seven hells," he muttered as he stalked the hallway. He took a large gulp of the sour drink and headed for his room. Sansa would okay tonight. There would be extra guards to make sure that nothing else happened. He had the rest of the night off, but he was in no hurry to sleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa sat staring into the mirror when Shae grabbed her chin. She felt the rag dab at her skin roughly. "Ow," she harped.

"Shh. It's not deep."

"I thought they were going to kill me."

"They thought so too."

"He hated me, the man who hit me. I saw it in his eyes – hated me." Sansa could still see the empty black pits of the man. "He never met me before, but he wanted to hurt me." Sansa couldn't understand how someone could be so hateful toward someone they didn't even know.

"Of course he did."

"Why? Why would a stranger-"

"You are everything he will never have. Your horse eats better than his children." Shae could see the flicker of guilt in Sansa's blue eyes. "It doesn't matter now. He's dead."

Sansa thought that just because she was a highborn didn't mean she was heartless. "I would have given them bread if I had it." She took a deep breath as the faces of the people looked at her with envy. Joffrey hadn't even acknowledged them. "I hate the king more than any of them!"

Shae grasped Sansa's arm roughly. "Don't say these things. If the wrong people hear you!"

"But you're not the wrong people." Shae couldn't be. She was the only one Sansa trusted.

Shae walked away so that Sansa couldn't see her face. Tyrion had told her that spies were everywhere. "Don't trust anybody," she warned quietly. "Life is safer that way."

Sansa glanced at the brunette with a sad expression. "I'm alone aren't I?"

Shae couldn't help but give the poor girl a sympathetic smile. "We are all alone in some way, milady."


	6. The Turncoat

**A/N: Midterms are over! Yay! Now back to our regular posting schedule. Also, reviewing makes the SanSan ship float. **

**P.S. There's a few minor spoilers if you haven't read the books. Not much; just a name and the real person behind Gendry leaving King's Landing. I don't think it has much bearing as far as spoilers go, but I didn't want to take a chance. **

Chapter 6: The Turncoat

Sandor was getting ready for the day's duties despite getting very little sleep. He had passed out sometime around four in the morning and woke up just before dawn, still clutching the massive jar of wine in his hand. He shook his head violently to get rid of that embarrassing memory of talking to the imp but the only thing it accomplished was making his headache worse. Though his normal armor was still bloody from the riot, he donned it anyway. There was no way in seven hells he would wear any other kind, especially the kingsguard. He loathed that with every fiber of his being. To him represented everything he resented. He begrudgingly put the last of his armor on and headed out for the breakfast room.

"You look awful," Tyrion quipped as he stuffed some bacon in his mouth. The small man watched as Sandor took his seat across him and loaded his plate. "You do know that we haven't run out of food."

Sandor sent him a glare as he tore the bread apart. "What are you doing here, imp? I would have thought you wanted to eat in your room."

"I would have but alas, a wolf woke early and needed tending to." He glanced around quickly and saw that only Podrik was nearby but still he whispered. "And sometimes the best company is the kind that no one thinks about."

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the Lannister. "You're hiding then."

"Staving off the day's works," Tyrion corrected. "At least until this headache goes away." He shifted uncomfortably and watched the Hound load his plate again. "Are you going to devour the table as well?" The swordsman snarled against the piece of meat in his mouth. "You are truly magnificent company, Clegane." A movement caught his eye but it was only Bronn checking his weapon on the way in. "I have news," he stated quietly.

Sandor merely stared with a blank expression.

"For our little wolf." Satisfied that his words finally got some form of expression, Tyrion continued. "Have her meet me today after the council meeting." He popped another piece of bacon in his mouth and jumped from the seat. "It's been a delight as always, Clegane. Try not to eat the servants when you're done."

Suppressing an urge to smirk, Sandor finished his meal and headed for court. He thought about what kind of news would be so bad that Tyrion would ask for a meeting as soon as possible. Obviously, it wouldn't be good.

As the day went on and Sandor stood at the stairs watching Joffrey cut off people's various body parts for pleasure, he thought about what the news could be. He knew it wasn't about Robb – any news about the Stark boy would have brought Sansa at the forefront of today's activities. That was good. Not that he was rooting for any side, but he was relieved that Sansa wouldn't be beaten today. So now that it had nothing to do with Robb Stark, he wondered if it was about her mother. The kingdom had heard about Renly's death, but Sansa wasn't punished for it – well, not in public. He cringed thinking about that day. Moving on, he came to Arya. Again, nothing had been said all day to the king. If she was captured or dead, Tyrion most likely would have told Sansa right away so that she'd be prepared. That left the two youngest Starks. But he easily dismissed that idea. The two boys were so young that no one paid much attention to them. They weren't a threat to anybody at the moment. In fact, he could barely remember seeing them during his time at Winterfell.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa looked at herself in the mirror. The cut on her head was okay, but the bruise on her cheek was still red. She touched it gently and winced at the pain.

"Milady should leave her bruises alone," Shae quipped. "Let them heal properly."

"Why can't they just go away?" she sighed out of annoyance.

"It always feels like forever when you have a wound," Shae smirked. "Any other day you never look twice at yourself."

"I've never had a cut on my face before."

"Never?"

"Well, there was this one time when Arya threw her stitching needle at me. I don't even remember what I said, but it made her angry. The needle scratched me across the cheek but it healed the next day." Shae quirked an eyebrow at her. "It wasn't a very long needle." Sansa regaled tales of her sister's adventures until she grew sad.

"Are you alright?"

"I miss her," Sansa whispered. Her blue eyes grew misty at the memories she was sharing. "I told her I hated her once. I don't even remember why. I thought things had started to get better between us...but then we left for King's Landing and that's when everything fell apart. After Mycah was killed, she never forgave me. I don't blame her. I should have told King Robert what happened. I should have known right then that the queen and Joffrey weren't good people. Maybe I did know and just didn't care. That was when I thought he loved me."

"What happened?"

"He ordered my father to be beheaded. If it wasn't for the Hound preventing me from pushing Joffrey off the ledge, I wouldn't be here and my head would be on a spike next to my father."

"You shouldn't say things like that. Someone could hear you."

"What are they going to do to me that they haven't already?"

Shae lowered her brown eyes and stared into Sansa. "Plenty."

"I don't care. I'm tired of this place. I want to go home."

"My mother told me once that when my father would go on these long trips, she would never be lonely."

"Why was that?"

"Because wherever he went, her heart was with him. So they were never really apart. Your family may be torn apart right now, but it will not always be so. They are with you and you are with them. As long as you remember that, you will never be lonely." Sansa smiled slightly at the comforting thought. "How does a walk around the gardens sound?"

"Lovely," Sansa nodded. Shae helped her get ready and the two headed for the garden.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hound."

Sandor turned around carefully at Cersei's command. "Your Grace?"

"Come with me." Sandor had no choice and followed the blonde woman until she stopped just in front of the iron throne. She stood there for a moment and stared at the chair as though another world was happening around her. "Have you heard anything about the Stark girl?"

"Which Stark girl?"

Cersei rolled her eyes and huffed. "The only one we have."

"No, Your Grace."

She looked peeved at his answer. "I want you to keep an eye on her; watch her. I think her flowering will come any day now and I want to be the first to know. Don't let her know though. I remember my first flowering. It can be uncomfortable in many ways, especially if there is a man watching for it; but since you are the one who guards her chambers the most, it won't look as suspicious."

Sandor couldn't think of anything more uncomfortable to do. "Yes, Your Grace."

She regarded him for a moment. "How was my son today?" He had noticed her absence in the throne room, yet couldn't bring himself to care. But he also didn't know how to respond to that question. "That's what I thought," she sighed. "Dismissed."

He bowed and left her cold presence quickly. Her whole being felt dismal and empty and it consumed everyone who was around her no matter how short the visit. No wonder she hated Sansa. The redhead was the complete opposite. He watched as the queen stared at the throne for a few minutes more until she headed back toward the council room. It was great timing too because Sandor caught a glimpse of red hair as Sansa walked along the furthest hallway; he made his way up the stairs and had decided to ignore her and keep on walking but she had other plans.

Sansa stared at Sandor as they got closer to each other. She felt guilty for not thanking him for saving her life, not that she had an opportunity to do so. He had made himself scarce since the incident. Though he kept his eyes straight, Sansa knew he was aware of her presence – he always was. Before she could stop herself, she called him out. "I beg pardon, ser." He stopped but it looked as though he were annoyed. Undeterred, she continued. "I should have come to you after: to thank you for saving me. You were so brave."

'She's doing it again,' he thought. She was elevating him to a knight from one of her songs. "Brave? A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his stubborn resistance to compliments – or even a simple thank you apparently – Sansa plucked up her courage and retorted, "Does it give you joy to scare people?"

"No, it gives me joy to kill people." Her gasp irritated him. "Spare me the piety. Don't tell me Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man."

Sansa knew he was trying to scare her, but she wasn't afraid. She was never of the Hound anymore. "It was his duty; he never liked it."

Seeing Ned's smug face did nothing to calm the urge to shake her into reality. "Is that what he told you? He lied." He looked straight into her blue eyes and added, "Killing is the sweetest thing there is." Her eyes which held such gratitude only a moment ago dimmed.

Sansa had had just about enough of Sandor's self loathing. "Why are you always so hateful?"

"You'll be glad of the hateful things I do someday when you're queen and I'm all that stands between you and your beloved king." He put all the hate he had for the blonde king into his words. But it was clear from her fallen expression that he had hit a nerve. He threw all her pretty words and empty proclamations back in her face. And it killed him.

Sansa swallowed her tears. She wouldn't allow herself to cry in front of him. Instead, she turned and walked solemnly to Tyrion's chambers. He had wounded her deeply by his mockery and his words stung more than his hit. She could heal from the bruises – and she always did; but she didn't want to be married to Joffrey any more than Sandor wanted to be a knight.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Ah, Lady Stark. Please, come in."

Sansa was escorted into a small room that served as Varys's chambers. Tyrion had been long at the council meeting and once it was done, he had told her to follow him. She did as she was told and they walked to the other side of the castle, where the eunuch's chambers was located.

"My apologies for the change of venue, but these days, one must always be on the lookout," the bald man smiled. He motioned for her to sit, but she declined. "Has Lord Tyrion told you anything?"

"No, my lord," she said nervously. Tyrion was standing next to Varys and both looked solemn.

"She doesn't know; no one knows."

"Knows what?" she asked.

"I have received word about your brothers at Winterfell," Varys replied carefully. He shared a look with Tyrion before going on. "It seems that Theon Greyjoy has captured Winterfell."

Sansa blinked at the news. "What do you mean captured? How can Theon capture his own home?"

"I suppose he never really thought it was his home after all. He has taken the castle and forced your brothers to surrender."

"B-but Theon wouldn't do that! He's an honorable man!"

"I've heard a lot said about the Greyjoy's but never that they're honorable," Tyrion retorted quietly. "Has your father ever told you about the Greyjoy's?"

"No."

"Theon was a ward, but he wasn't there by his choice, nor his father's; he had been captured by your father when the Greyjoy's tried to rebel...again... And failed...again. Your father refused to harm him and instead kept him at Winterfell to be raised among his own children."

"What about my mother? Are Bran and Rickon alive?"

"My sources tell me that they are alive and unharmed," Varys interjected. "Unfortunately, my sources also report that Ser Rodrik is dead."

Sansa felt sick and nearly collapsed but Varys and Tyrion caught her. They led her to a seat so she could rest. "Why?"

"He called Theon a turncoat."

"Rightly so, if it's not too bold of me to say," Varys added. "He and the Bolton boy both."

Sansa looked up with a confused expression. "But Lord Bolton is with Robb."

"Roose is," Tyrion replied. "But his bastard isn't."

Sansa's eyes darkened. "Ramsay?"

Both men looked at her, clearly surprised. "You know of him?"

"They're known for flaying people. It's their sigil."

"Correct," Tyrion said in a small voice. "Rest assure that Varys has every confidence in his source who says that your brothers are well. Right?"

"Oh yes. I have been sworn to that your brothers have not been harmed."

"What about my mother? Has she gone back to Winterfell?"

"No, my lady. Your mother is still with Lord Stark."

That was a strange sound: her brother being addressed as the lord of Winterfell. "What will happen to the people there?"

"Only the gods know for certain."

"Why would he do this? My father was nothing but kind to him."

"He's a Greyjoy," was the only explanation Tyrion could give her. Sansa's face had gone white as a sheet and he hurried for some water. "Drink, please."

Sansa took a sip from the cup. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I think you deserve to know what's going on with your own house. Just because you're a hostage doesn't mean you have to be a prisoner."

Sansa didn't smile, but she softened her face a bit. "Thank you for telling me."

"If I hear anymore, I shall let you know immediately," Varys replied.

"I must caution you to not speak of this to anyone," Tyrion warned. "Not even your handmaiden."

Sansa nodded in understatement. "Thank you, my lords."

Tyrion and Varys watched Sansa walk out into the hallway and then closed the door.

"What do you think of this news?" Varys asked Tyrion.

"It's sad but predictable. Though, the Bolton bastard gives me a reason to be fearful for the Stark boys."

"Ah yes, Ramsay Snow."

"I wouldn't let him hear you say that," Tyrion grinned, but it wasn't from amusement.

"Do you really think Roose's bastard will harm the two boys?"

"Not if he values his life. Robb Stark may be fighting us, but he has a loyal army at his command and the North in the palm of his hand. Not even that little bastard cunt is stupid enough to mess with those boys at the moment; the Ironborn on the other hand are a different story. But my concern lies with Sansa."

"But she is here, my lord."

"For now," Tyrion replied quickly. "Her brother doesn't yet know of the Greyjoy boy's betrayal?"

"No, but I would think that any minute now he would receive a raven."

"He will have to make a choice: his sisters or his brothers. If your reports are true and the Ironborn want to take the North for their own, then Robb would have to split up his army. If he had enough men, that wouldn't be a problem. But as he's winning our war, he cannot afford to lose the ground he's gain, especially with my brother in his camp. If he goes to Winterfell to fight, he'd take Jaime with him and my brother would most likely die considering the Greyjoy's hate us as much as the Starks and with his life, Sansa's would be forfeit as well; should he choose to stay and fight, his brothers would not survive under both Greyjoy and Bolton rule for long."

"An impossible decision," Varys mumbled to himself.

"You are sure the queen has not heard this news?"

"Yes."

"Good. Keep it that way. Maybe I can figure out a way to help the Stark boy."

"You would help your enemy?"

"Not Robb; Bran. No one deserves to die from a Bolton."

The image that came to Varys's mind made him shudder. "Yes, that is true. And what of Lady Stark? Was it wise to tell her about this? She is only a young girl and she did tell the queen about her father's plans."

"One thing I've learned, my dear man, is that you should never underestimate the power of a survivor. Sansa will be okay for now. I will have someone look after her."

"Our mutual friend?"

"Her too. Remember to tell your little spies to keep quiet about this. Any news yet from the Night's Watch concerning another specific bastard?"

"Not yet, my lord."

Tyrion hummed to himself. "Tell me, when you sent Gendry away so that he wouldn't be killed, did you tell Yoren why?"

"I don't think I had to."

"Yes, he is rather smart. Can't say the same for Ned Stark."

"Ned Stark was an honorable man."

"I'll be sure to tell him next time I visit his head on Joffrey's spike."

"I did hear one thing now that I think about it," Varys stated. "When the queen's guards came across Yoren's camp, one of them noticed a boy who was hiding. They of course didn't think much of it considering Gendry is described as a man, but it got me thinking."

"That's never a good thing."

Varys ignored the remark. "What if the younger Stark girl went with Yoren?"

"That's impossible. Night's Watch doesn't take women."

"But he was a friend of the Starks; perhaps he let her join the recruitment posing as a boy. It'd be the perfect hiding place – a highborn girl who's wanted by the royal army masquerading as a recruit for the Night's Watch."

Tyrion could see the dots starting to connect. "Winterfell is on the way to the Wall but with it sacked, she might be able to get to Jon. Huh. What a clever girl." Tyrion was starting to grow fond of Arya Stark.

"It appears Sansa isn't the only Stark capable of survival. Should we tell her?"

"No," Tyrion said quickly. "It is only speculation." And even though he wouldn't admit, Tyrion was kind of rooting for the young Stark. "I don't want to give her hope of her sister being alive and then we end up finding Arya's body."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Clegane!" Tyrion called out cheerfully.

Sandor turned on his heel at the sound of his name. Why were the Lannisters of all people wanting to talk to him today? "Yes, my lord?"

"I have a proposition for you." Sandor didn't say anything so Tyrion continued. "Your little wolf has received some distressing news today." He motioned for the taller man to walk with him. "It is of the upmost importance that she be kept safe."

"From who, my lord?"

"Everyone. Anyone. Herself. I will be putting you on guard duty for her; I'll tell the king something to make it plausible."

"Yes, my lord."

"Do you know why I trust you with this?" Again, Sandor gave no hint about what he was thinking. Tyrion smiled and pointed at him. "That's why."

Sandor noted that there must have been something in the wine. Two separate offers from the Lannisters to watch over Sansa – both for very different purposes. He had never had this much trouble before he started being nice. How was he supposed to keep pushing Sansa away when he was being ordered to watch her all day every day? He shook his head at the dueling thoughts inside.

"What say you, Hound?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes, my lord." His deadpanned tone made Tyrion laugh.

"Don't look so dismal, dear man. She's just a girl."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor was cursing Tyrion and the whole Lannister lot when Sansa came walking up.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Has the king asked for me?"

"No."

Sansa breathed a small, but audible sigh of relief. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No."

The air was tense around them, but Sansa wasn't entirely sure why. "Why can't you just accept a thank you?" she blurted out.

Sandor whipped his head to look at her. "My lady?"

"Don't do that," she ordered. "I just wanted to thank you for saving my life and instead of saying, 'you're welcome' you try to frighten me with your declaration about how life is only sweet when you're killing a man!"

"You're welcome," he ridiculed. Suddenly, Sansa let out a cry of pain as she held her stomach. Sandor tried to catch her, but she ended up tripping on his feet. The action caused her to stumble backwards and lean against the half wall, taking Sandor with her to the point he almost fell over the short wall to avoid stepping on her. "Are you trying to kill us?" he shouted. But when he looked down, she was cradled on her side. "What's wrong?" he asked in a slightly nervous manner.

Sansa had never felt pain like this before. She grasped at her stomach and slid down to the floor. When Sandor tried to help her up she refused. "Just give me a minute."

Waiting anxiously, Sandor stood in front of her. She was holding on to her stomach the same way she did the night before the riot. "Are you hurt, girl?"

Sansa waited for the pain to ebb before she answered. "No, I'm okay now."

"What's the matter with ya?"

"I don't know."

"Can you stand?" He reached out his hand and she took it lightly. "What is it?"

"I don't know. It feels sharp like a large needle poking me inside."

"Is it from Meryn?" Sandor was going to kill that bastard if he had hurt her like this.

"I don't think so."

Sandor led her into the chamber. "Are you going to be all right, little bird?"

"I'll be fine." Sansa watched as the Hound left the room. She groaned at the throbbing pain still thumping against her stomach. Quickly, she threw the blue nightgown over her body and climbed into bed. She had been crying at the godswood since Tyrion told her about Winterfell. She cried for Bran and Rickon being left alone with Theon and that monster, Ramsay; she cried for Robb and her mother who were in a battlefield, and she cried hard for Arya. There was still no word from her or about her. Even Varys said his spies hadn't seen or heard anything and they were everywhere, even at Winterfell apparently. Her family was split in all different directions and she was stuck here at the Keep.

Night had fallen slowly for her as she checked to make sure Sandor was still outside. She opened the door a crack and saw a random guard standing there.

"Is everything all right, my lady?" the man asked.

"Um, yes. Thank you." She closed the door in a hurry and ran back to her bed. There was a sleeping draught on her dresser and with a quick swig, she swallowed the bottle. It worked quickly and soon she was dreaming of the riot again.


	7. The Wolf Bites the Dog

**Chapter 7: The Wolf Bites the Dog**

Sandor made his way back to Sansa's room to relieve the present guard on duty. "Anything happen?"

"Yeah, she opened the door, looked at me, and then closed it."

Sandor peered over the other man's head at the door. "Did she say anything?"

"Just that everything was fine. She looked scared though."

That was nothing new. Sansa was scared of her own shadow at times. "Go." The other man left without another word and scrambled down the hallway. Sandor leaned against the wall and cracked a walnut he had grabbed on his way up. Suddenly, he heard a scream and burst into the room only to find Sansa still asleep. Confused, he walked around her room and then sniffed her cup of water. He took a sip and found that nothing was off. "Little bird?" he whispered.

Sansa's head was turning from side to side violently and the covers had been kicked down to the edge of the bed. She was mumbling something but he couldn't understand what it was. He lowered his head down near her lips.

"No," she whispered.

Sandor pulled himself away and tried to leave but the more she repeated the word, the more useless he felt. It took him a minute but he put his best foot forward and went to her side. His mind had drawn a blank. He literally could not think of anything to say. Instead, he gently pulled her covers up and made his way back to the other side of the door where he proceeded to bang his head against the stone wall. He was mad to think about her in any other way other than a child. Gregor used to look at younger girls with such an intense hatred (or lust. One never really knew with Gregor) that they never came around any of the Cleganes unless it was vital. Not that they would anyway. He wasn't a particularly cute kid when he was younger nor would he have been a handsome man even without the burns on his face. At least now he looked the part of a dangerous man. And dangerous men don't belong with highborn girls. It was a stupid thing to even consider. He had stood by and watched her father get beheaded so despite what she might feel now, eventually he knew she would think about that day and how he stood idle.

Nope. Sansa Stark was not even woman so she officially off limits to him. Though, he would be lying if he said he never thought about her waking up in his bed after a night of passion, bright eyed, hair all messed, and a genuine smile playing on her lips – when she was older of course. He knew she had it in her. Her little snippet to Joffrey after he threatened to put Robb's head on a spike proved there was a wolf somewhere in her. He chuckled slightly to himself as he remembered how furious the tiny king was when she threatened him right back. She had taken them all by surprise and showed that she was capable of saying her own words when provoked. And then she nearly pushed him off the edge! His little bird would have fallen too, hence why he really stopped her. He didn't care about the king. Hell, he had the urge to do it a few times a day; everyone did. But she was the only one who was going to _actually_ do something about it.

The sound of footsteps made him snap from his reverie. But it was only Shae. He nodded slightly to her as she walked toward him. "Still asleep."

"I know." Shae shut the door gently as she disappeared inside.

He could hear shuffles and soft footsteps walking around inside. Had this been for anyone else, Sandor would have died from sheer boredom – and that's saying a lot considering his job consisted of standing around until ordered to do something. The door opened again and Shae came out with a dress. "Where are you going with that?"

"I have to get it mended. Is that okay by you?"

He glared at her and straightened back into position. What Tyrion saw in that one he would never know. Still, Sansa took the foreign woman so for her sake, he put up with the brunette's lip.

"Oi! Hound!" a voice cried.

Sandor turned and saw one of the kingsguard motioning for him down the hall. He cursed under breath and made his way over. "What?" he asked roughly.

"Some of the men caught this thief trying to steal some food from the kitchen."

"Bring him to the king." _What a fucking idiot_, Sandor thought. He turned his eyes to the small child who looked as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. "I hope you liked your hands, little boy. You won't be seeing them again if the king has anything to say about it."

The guards left but Sandor couldn't help but feel some pity for the kid. He was starving and the king didn't like to share. If he could have, he would have helped the child, but with all the guards around, it just wasn't going to work. He turned and started back to Sansa's room. He saw Shae enter the room again and a few seconds later, another one followed. But then something happened. The other maid came back out and so did Shae. The brunette looked angry so Sandor walked into the room to see what happened.

Sansa was holding a knife in her hand, frozen in an awkward position. She looked petrified as her eyes landed on him. Her face drained of any color it held. It was then he noticed the blood on the bed. _Oh...shit_, he thought. The two stared at each other until he moved forward to where she was standing. She backed up slightly as though a mouse scared by a noise. He took the knife from her hand and she collapsed on the seat in front of the bed. Tears rushed out and her shoulders shook while he stood next to the bloodied sheets. She was devastated and in a way, so was he. Shae rushed back into the room but stopped abruptly when she saw him. He avoided the look in her eye by looking back at Sansa. Shae showed what he was feeling, which was a hell of a lot of emotions in just a few short seconds.

"What are you going to do?" Sansa squeaked out.

He didn't answer at first. He was too busy thinking about how they could cover this up; but he realized it was no use. That other maid had obviously seen it which is why she left the room. That meant that the queen would find out no matter what. "I have to tell the queen," he replied dismally.

The words struggled to come out as the three let the silence say everything for them. Sandor couldn't look at Sansa but he could feel the heat of her glare. But it wasn't a glare of hate – he could deal with that. It was disappointment.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Let it never be said that Tyrion Lannister never had a heart for others beyond his house. Shae had come to him immediately after the Hound had ushered Sansa to the Queen's chambers. Now they were both waiting for Sandor to return. When he did, Tyrion poured him a large glass of wine.

"I'm assuming my sister had you watch for her bleeding, yes?"

"Aye," Sandor replied. "She commanded me to."

"What are we going to do?" Shae remarked sadly. "She is at the mercy of that monster."

"We can't do anything," Tyrion answered.

"He'll show no mercy."

Both looked to the Hound and saw him being seemingly indifferent about what just happened. That is until he let out a harsh chuckle.

"Is something amusing?" Tyrion asked.

Sandor smiled bitterly at the little lord. He pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You told me not to worry because she was just a girl. Now she's a woman." And the time had come for him to deal with his feelings. "And the king will have her."

Neither Shae nor Tyrion dared to say anything. Even now they stared as he drank the cup of wine. There was something awful about the way he was reacting. It is always uncomfortable when a brutish man becomes sad. It's almost as dangerous as when he's angry. But Sandor wasn't looking for sympathy or anything of the sort, which made him difficult to deal with. So instead of saying empty words that held no promise, Tyrion just refilled his cup. "Where is she now? Still with my sister?"

Shae replied with a simple "Yes."

"Is she alone?"

Shae nodded slowly. "The queen demanded it."

"That's never good."

"You think she'll still have to marry the king?"

"Unless there have been any new offers of kings wanting to punish their daughters by sending them here, then yes, she'll have to."

Sandor let out a bitter chuckle as he put the wine on a table. "Fuck me."

"I'd rather not," Tyrion replied languidly. "You're not really my type."

"When did everything go to hell?" Sandor remarked. "None of this was supposed to happen."

Tyrion walked closer to Sandor and waited until he was sure it was safe to speak. "Maybe not. But that doesn't take away the fact that it has."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa opened the door to exit the Queen's chambers. Cersei had been little help and zero comfort. Still, she didn't miss that for the first time in a long time, the queen had been nice to her. Cersei acknowledged that Joffrey was difficult and Sansa fully believed that the queen understood why she didn't want to marry him.

The Hound had returned a few moments earlier before they finished talking to walk her back but the queen wasn't quite through her.

"Oh Sansa," Cersei called out.

"Yes, my queen?"

"What I said – it doesn't matter. You will marry Joffrey."

Even Sansa heard the threat inflicted by her tone. "Of course, my queen. Joffrey is my one true love."

"That's a good little dove. Now fly away."

The door slammed in both the Hound and Sansa's faces.

"If only I could," Sansa whispered to herself. She turned and faced Sandor only to see that he was looking angrier than usual. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, girl. Move."

Sansa watched him stare straight ahead. "Is there some reason you refuse to talk to me?"

"Does the lady wish me to speak?"

"The lady wishes you to look at her while she's talking to you."

Sandor moved his head in a way that reminded Sansa of when Arya had to watch their mother while being scolded : forced.

"Never mind," she snapped. "If you want to be nothing more than a brooding hulk of depression, I can walk back on my own. I know the way. You can go back to your sulking."

Sandor grabbed her arm so hard that she thought it would break. "You think because you bleed for a few days that you're tough? You are as stupid as ever. If the queen had heard you say that, you would have beaten within an inch of your life. Gods, you're stupid."

"You know what I think?"

"You don't think," he sneered. "You do. Just like a little bird chirping away pretty hymns for pretty people. Not daring to look at someone so ugly that they would force you to have an opinion of your own for once."

"So that's what's wrong? You're upset because you don't think I look at you. How ironic that the man who prefers the shadows would desire that a little chirping bird pay attention to him. Who's the stupid one now?" She jerked her arm out of his grasp. "My house symbol is a direwolf; yours is a dog. If anything, I should regret that my affections went so low as to care about you."

Once again, Sandor was stunned by Sansa's words. His nickname for her came about because he thought she was trained to say the right thing at the right time. But he was wrong. She didn't need the training. Sansa had hit him where it hurt with her own words. He watched as she walked down the hallway with the same grace as she always did.

For her part, Sansa managed to make it around the corner before she burst into silent tears. She didn't mean to say those things. Except she did, but not at Sandor. Or maybe she did. Frustrated, Sansa ran back to her room and collapsed on the bed. Crying into her pillow, she had never felt as guilty about anything in her life. But she was so angry! And he was there, deliberately trying to provoke her. "Why does he always have to do that!" she growled at the wall. "Gods, he's so...so...infuriating!"

"Milady?"

Sansa shot straight into the air at the sound of Shae's voice. "What are you doing here?"

"The Hound implied that you were upset. Was it something the queen said?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she whined. Shae nodded and started for the door when Sansa cried out for her. "I don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"Is it always this difficult when you become a woman?"

Shae smiled sympathetically. "Yes."

"I'm just so sad. And angry." She got off her bed and headed for the chair so that Shae could brush out her hair.

"Some women are. You've been through a lot, milady. Maybe you just need to let some of it out."

"He didn't deserve that."

"He's a man. Chances are he did."

"He just kept pushing me until I exploded." A horrible thought crossed her mind. She grabbed Shae roughly and stopped her in the middle of a brush. "Is he mad at me? Did he seem upset when you saw him?"

"He always looks mad."

Sansa sighed out of frustration. "That's true."

There was a long pause before the brunette continued. "Milady, maybe he pushed you away because he's afraid."

"Afraid?" Confusion flittered across her delicate features as she turned Shae's words in her mind. "The Hound isn't afraid of anything." _Except fire..._

"Every man is afraid something. For him, it may be you; how you make him feel when he is around you. A hard man like that isn't used to those feelings."

"I'm not either but you don't see me going around all moody," Sansa defended hotly.

"You're young and have a loving family; he's never had that. He has no idea what to do and for a man like him, that's the worst thing imaginable."

"Why can't he talk to me about it?"

"Because that kind of talk can lead to death. You know that."

Sansa sighed heavily and began to pout as Shae resumed the brushing. "Men," she grumbled.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Women," Sandor bit out.

Bronn whipped his head to look at the Hound. "What about them?"

"They're just so..."

A topless whore walked by the men and Bronn let his eyes wander freely. "I know what you mean. You can't decide if you love 'em or hate 'em. Or both. Me? I just want to fuck 'em."

Sandor rolled his eyes at the sellsword. But then he studied him closer. "How women you been with?"

"Too many to count," Bronn grinned. "You?"

"Same."

"You remember any of 'em?" Sandor shook his head and for a split second, Bronn saw the tiniest hint of regret in the gray eyes. "That's a shame. The best ones are worth a place in the back of your mind."

"How would you know?"

"I don't. I picked up one of those book things and that's what the hero said in it."

Sandor downed another gulp of the wine he had been nursing for the past few hours. "Must have been Sansa's."

"Actually, I think it was. How did you know?"

"She's a stupid girl."

"You really believe that?"

"Yes."

"Then you're even more stupid than she is. That girl knows how to survive. I'd take her with me everywhere."

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the man. "Why's that? Because she's pretty?"

"Aye, that too. But she knows what to say and how to say it. That's useful when it comes to dangerous situations. Take Tyrion for example. I can't tell you how many things he's talked his way out of in the time I've known him. I probably would have been dead by now if he hadn't been around."

"Where is the little lord anyway?"

"Hell if I know. Something to do with the queen I think. Well, hello." Bronn let a whore sit on his lap and smiled widely at Sandor. "I think he's a little down. You got a friend he can have?"

Sandor glanced up at the whore. She was pretty, but in a common way.

"Bairella," the whore called out. Her girlish tone set Sandor on edge. "This man needs some company."

Sandor didn't even look up. Instead, he threw a coin on the table and walked out with a jug of wine. He wasn't in the mood for some random whore that was probably dirty inside. On the other hand, he was extremely horny from his fight with Sansa. Every time he thought about it, he felt himself go stiff as her jaw clenched in anger and a fire burned in her eyes. The way she looked at him - he could see the hunger. It was the same kind of look he got when she came around.

"Can I help you, Hound?" a woman asked.

Sandor hadn't even realized that he walked to Littlefinger's establishment. But as long as he was here..."Where's the redhead? He asked roughly.

"We have many redheads."

"The one with the big tits," he clarified. The woman still looked dumbfounded. "Seven hells, you're stupid," he spat. "The one who fucked the Lannister in Winterfell."

Roz appeared from around the corner at the name of her hometown. She remembered stories about the man from Tyrion. "What would you like, Hound?"

"You."

"I'm sorry, we don't cater to your kind. Only lords come here," the woman said.

Sandor brandished his knife and held it to her throat.

"I'm sure we can accommodate Clegane," Roz excused. She held out her hand to show him the way. "Come on then."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm not going to stand for it," Sansa declared. She was completely alone as it was already past midnight, but she had been unable to sleep. She grabbed a robe from the bed's stool and quickly hurried past the sleeping guard stationed at her door. She was going to fix this thing with Sandor once and for all. Tell him that he can be a man and tell her how he feels and whether he crushes her spirit or lifts her to unimaginable heights was in his hands – his rough, manly, experienced hands.

There were some guards about so she used a shawl to cover her head to hide the red hair. She quietly knocked on Sandor's door, but there was no answer.

"You lookin' for the Hound?" a man echoed the corridor.

Sansa cleared her throat to make it sound different. "Yes, do you know where I might find him- I mean, where is he at?" she corrected. Trying to sound like a commoner was more difficult than she anticipated.

"You missed him a few hours ago. I saw him at Littlefinger's place on my way back. If you get there in time, you might be able to still catch him getting ready for another round."

Bile welled up in Sansa's throat. "Thank you, ser." She didn't bother to stick around for the man's reply but he seemed to be shouting something urgent. Her head was down and she was trying to wipe the tears away, which is why she smacked right into him. She hit his chest so hard that she stumbled backward and landed on her bottom.

"Watch where you're – Sansa?"

Sansa's blue eyes flew up into his. He looked utterly confused and she was sure her cheeks were flaming red with embarrassment. "N-no. You're mistaken, ser." She tried to leave but he grasped her wrist in an iron hold. "Let me go."

Sandor threw the shawl off her head and snorted. "That's a stupid disguise."

"Let me go," she demanded.

"No. What were you doing here?"

"I came to apologize for what I said okay? I felt bad for saying it so I risked a run to see you, which was a fruitless adventure considering you were out with some questionable women."

"Always so polite even when you're trying not to be," he mocked. "You don't have to be like them when you're around me."

"I don't want to be anything around you. Now let me go."

"No. Why are you crying?"

"I'm not."

"Tell me."

"What do you care?" she fired loudly. She took a deep breath and found that she was actually shaking she was so upset. His gray bore into hers as she tried to calm her nerves. "It doesn't matter now. It's late and I hear the kind of activity you have been doing requires rest. If you'll excuse me..."

She was crying because he had been with another woman. '_Shit!_' Sandor thought. She was looking at him with that disappointed look again. "What do you want from me, Sansa? You're just a girl."

"And you're just a hound. See? Now we're both liars." She realized that he had let of her wrist a few minutes ago. So why was she still standing here? "Why did you tell the queen about my flowering?"

"She ordered me to watch for it," he replied in a barely audible whisper.

Sansa's heart dropped. "You were spying on me."

Sandor nodded slowly.

"In that case, good night, Ser Clegane." She turned and walked as demurely as she could back to her room, where the night guard was still snoring outside her door. She wasted no time in getting back to bed and crying herself to sleep.

A/N: I know this was kind of an angsty, angry chapter, but I really felt like it was necessary for the whole "what goes up, must come down" kind of thing in terms of a relationship (any kind). Sansa has a wolf in her deep down and she's shown that if she's pushed, she can let it out. Who better and safer to do that with than Sandor?


	8. The Empty Dream

**A/N:** Holy crap, y'all flooded my inbox LOL (I got more messages than reviews!). I am infinitely sorry about the time it's taken me to write this chapter, but the truth is that I got a little lost in the middle and hated what I had written so I redid it. Also I had mini surgery and house sat a house that had no internet. Seriously. Overall, it's just been one of those crazy weeks. And since the last chapter was a bit emo-ish, I thought I'd lighten the mood this time.

Chapter 8: The Empty Dream

Sandor felt dirty. For a man like him that was saying quite a bit. Not a good dirty either, but the kind of dirty that can only come with having sex with someone other than the person you really want to be with. He had watched her grow up in the three minutes it took for their fragile relationship to burst. He was angry at himself for letting her in and he was angry at her for wanting him. Who did she think she was? Just because she was a highborn did not mean she had the right to simply walk in his life and claim it as her own. But fuck the seven hells, that is exactly what she did. From the time she talked to him, he knew she was different. She was naïve yes, but what did he expect really? She had spent all her life in the north, separated from any other kind of society. There, everything depended on honor and the Starks ruled with a strict, but fair thumb. King's Landing was a hotbed of conspiracy and corrupted houses each vying for their own agenda. The families here would take every advantage they could to stab you in the back while whispering sweet nothings in your ear. That was a lesson she learned first-hand. Contrary to what she might have believed, he did actually sympathize with her. When he was a young boy, he had wanted to be a knight more than anything in the world. The prestige of being a kingsguard with the gold cloak hanging proudly from his shoulders; his longsword ready for action at any moment, and watching the games of the iron throne from a safe distance all conspired to give him dreams of grandeur. Until that fucking fire melted his face. It was just as hard for him as it was for Sansa to accept the reality of what a knight truly was: a monster with a mask of chivalry. For Sansa, she had dreams of marrying a handsome knight like Ser Loras with a beautiful, intact face and pretty sigil to bestow on her children's clothes. But her world had been crushed on the wheel of reality just as his had been. Oh yes, he could sympathize with Sansa more than she knew. They could have had something special – not romantic maybe if she didn't want that, but a friendship that few would understand. She always saw through the anger and bitterness and tried to help, but he had to go and ruin it. But why was he even upset about this? He was a man for gods' sake! He didn't have to answer to a barely there woman! He could come and go as he pleased on his time off. He didn't go out of his way to see her when she was upset did he? No. He probably should have now that he was thinking about it, but there were so many problems with that option: namely, he was never what someone thought of when they wanted to be comforted. Chances were that she wanted some of that now after he called her stupid, which in hindsight wasn't the smartest thing he could have said to her. Hell, _she_ came to _his_ room: he might have been able to do something - anything - to let her know that she was better than anyone he had been with and will ever meet. He may have gotten some sort of kiss too. Of course, with that train of thought, maybe it was a good thing things went the way they did.

Dirty. Just plain dirty.

He ripped his shirt over his head and washed himself quickly before slipping into his hard bed. He still smelt of sex with that whore. He began to think about who had been there before him – countless men and probably women too knowing Littlefinger and his establishment. And he hadn't even enjoyed it! All he could think about was Sansa looking at him with such disappointment and that kind of memory didn't help him stay hard for long. At least she was a redhead. But that seemed to make everything worse because every time Ros looked at him, the fantasy was gone. He finally had to take her from behind but she was so loose, Sandor wondered if she could even feel anything anymore. Naturally, that thought led to rabbit trails about how big he was. Eventually, he settled for her mouth. That seemed to work since that was the only hole in her that wasn't permanently stretched. Regardless of the circumstances, he got his release and she got her money. He would have been fine with that. After all, nearly every man in the north had slept with the whore as though it was a rite of passage so why couldn't he?

Sandor growled into his pillow. "Sansa."

That damn girl – woman – was gonna be the death of him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Sansa ran down the hallway at full speed. Behind her, the Hound was relentless in his chase of the redhead. Even though she was running fast, it wasn't enough. Somehow he had gotten hold of her and they both fell, tumbling down the flight of stairs in front of them. _

_Sansa felt him pull both of her hands above her head and hold it there with just one of his. "Let me go!" _

_He didn't say anything as he nuzzled his face against her neck. His hot breath on her skin made her body react in the worst way – or maybe it was the best? She struggled against his grip but put as little effort as possible into it. Her limbs were crying out to wrap themselves around him and her flesh ached for his touch. The fire that surged through her veins when he let his hand roam over her stomach made her moan. _

"_Do you still want me to let you go?" he said in deep, rich voice. _

_Sansa could barely understand what he was saying she was so lost in the moment. He smiled as he tested the waters by grinding his hips against her. Just like he expected, she responded fiercely. He kept her hands in place but her legs wrapped themselves around him on their own accord. Her chest rose up to meet his and he could feel how turned on she was just by the erratic breathing. Yet he could still feel her holding back. _

"_Let go, little bird," he cooed. "Let go." _

It was still dark out when Sansa woke from her dream. She was sweating profusely and she felt something sticky on her legs. When she checked, she was horrified to see some sort of liquid running down her inner thighs. It smelt funny to her. Was this normal for a woman to experience? Was it from her bleeding? It didn't look like it. Whatever it was, she was determined to get rid of it in case someone came in and saw it. She didn't need another encounter like the morning of her first flowering. That was all kinds of embarrassing to have Sandor there at that moment.

She gathered the sheets up and noticed that whatever was coming out of her hadn't seeped through and it didn't leave any dark marks. "Thank the gods," she breathed.

Next she poured her own bath, which was actually rather easy she thought. Carefully, she poured some fresh rose petals in the warm water to make her smell good. She played with a few of them before closing her eyes. Fully relaxed, she breathed in the rosy scent and labored her breathing.

When she opened her eyes again it was sunny. Her body was prune like from sitting in the water, which had turned cold hours earlier. She heard some shuffling in the next room and wrapped a towel around her. Emerging from the bathing room, she saw Shae and another maid putting fresh sheets on her bed.

"Milady," Shae announced.

Sansa returned the greeting with a smile and sat at her chair. Shae began to brush her hair while the other maid finished the final touches on her bed. "You're dismissed," she declared. The maid curtsied and left. "Shae?"

"Yes, milady?"

Sansa had no idea how to even begin asking for information. "When, uh, when you have your flowering, do you experience anything other than blood?"

Shae stopped brushing and looked at her mistress intently. The redhead did seem flustered and more than a little bashful. "That depends. What did you experience?"

"I had this dream last night and when I woke up, I was sweating and there was something sticky on my legs. But it wasn't blood. Is that bad?"

Shae chuckled lightly at Sansa's lady like blush. "No, milady. What kind of a dream was it?"

"I was running but a man caught me. We fell down and he started kissing me and...and...stuff."

"That's when you woke up?" Sansa nodded shyly. "What you experienced during that dream wasn't bad. What happened after you woke up isn't bad either. It's just your body's way of reminding you that being a woman can come with some nice experiences."

"Like what?"

Now it was Shae's turn to feel uncomfortable. She had never given a sex talk to anyone let alone a highborn. "Did your mother ever tell you how children come into the world?"

"No. She wanted me to get my blood first."

"Of course," Shae muttered. "I know this is going to seem unrelated, but I need to you tell me what you felt during your dream."

"During the dream I felt...something strange. I couldn't breathe or even think. Everything became hazy and I thought I was floating out of my body. But then this burning came from deep inside and I thought I was going to be burned alive."

"And these feelings happened when the man touched you?"

Sansa nodded. "Is that normal?"

"Definitely," Shae smiled. Her reassurance seemed to calm Sansa "What did you feel after you woke up?"

Sansa thought for a moment. "Empty. It was as though something inside of me had left. Is that bad? It sounds bad."

"Don't worry about that. That's normal. Now, you said your mother had never told you about where children come from." Again, Sansa nodded. "What happened in your dream – the man and the fire and the haziness – that's a portion of what happens when two people love each other. They come together and become intimate."

"How do they do that?"

'Curse this girl for being curious!' Shae thought. But she couldn't say no to someone like Sansa, who was probably scared out of her wits about her own body. "What happens is," Shae cleared her throat and continued; "the man puts his...member into a woman's...body."

"Where does it go?"

Shae took a deep breath and tried hard not to scare Sansa with the details, but since she was still engaged to the king, she would find out eventually and be totally unprepared. At least this way she'd know what was supposed to happen. But she couldn't just flat out say it. "Come with me." Shae grabbed one of Sansa's lone mirrors and led her to the bathroom. "You really want to know about what happens?"

"Yes."

Shae thrust the mirror into Sansa's hands. "Pull your dress up, put the mirror between your legs, and take a look. I know it's strange, but trust me, it will help. Every woman should know her body. If you still have questions after you're done, then I'll be able to explain everything better."

"Okay," came the shaky reply. Sansa watched as Shae closed the door. She glanced down at the mirror, which was bulky and had sharp edges and wondered what Shae was thinking. But she was in a bind and Shae obviously knew what she was talking about. Besides, it was either this or the queen. Shuddering at the thought, Sansa hiked her dress up to her waist and stuck the mirror where Shae said to. She wasn't sure what she'd find, but she did it anyway. Her blue eyes found the object in the mirror and she gasped. Then she studied it a little more. Shae was right: she should know her body.

Shae waited patiently by Sansa's bed. She heard a tiny gasp and chuckled lightly to herself. Against all odds, the highborn had woven a special place in her heart. She never dreamed she'd have to take the role of a friend, confidant, and now mother when Tyrion placed her in Sansa's care.

"Where is she?"

Startled, Shae nearly fell on to the bed. "What are you doing here? Has the king called for her?"

Sandor moved further inside. Something was off. The woman was skittish today and the air felt tense. "That's no concern of yours and no, he hasn't. Where is she?"

"She's... busy."

Sandor gave her a wary once over. "Doing what?"

"Shae, how many holes are there?" Sansa's innocent but curious voice rang from the other room.

Shae smiled nervously as Sandor's face seem to become incredibly confused.

"There's so much I can't see! How does the man know which one is which?"

Hanging her head in both exasperation and amusement, Shae let out a stifled laugh. Sandor on the other hand, had a mixture of emotions rolling inside him.

"Milady, I – I think you should stop talking," Shae called out.

"You said you'd help me," Sansa replied, confused. "I'm looking at it but I don't see how this explains anything about my dream. If I ever see San-" Sansa opened the door and stopped midsentence. An apple red blush burned her cheeks at the sight of the Hound not a few feet away. Without thinking, she slammed the door shut and hid behind it. "What's he doing here?"

Sandor cleared his throat loudly. "I – uh, I came to speak with the lady."

Sansa shut her eyes and banged her head lightly against the thick door. Last night's dream clouded her present thoughts and she shook her head to get rid of them. "I don't believe I have anything to say to you."

A warm feeling came over her just then as Sandor grabbed the door handle and shook it.

"Open the door, Sansa."

"No." She heard him back up and knew what was coming. She got out of the way just in time as his foot made the door swing on its hinge. "I don't want to see you."

Sandor glanced at the mirror in her hand and smiled wryly. "Oh, I have a feeling you do."

Sansa realized he was looking at the mirror and then back at her. "That- that conversation has nothing to do with you."

"I never said it did. I'm sure there a dozen men whose names start with 'San' that you're having dreams about."

"Oh, you have no idea. I- I –I dream about a lot of them."

"Really?" he said devishly. "What kind of dreams? I mean, besides the kind that requires questions about your body and a mirror."

"That's none of your business." Sansa was trying her best to remain composed but the truth was that she was frightened – not of the Hound of course, but what would happen if she did end up telling him what she dreamt. He would only mock and scorn her for being silly.

"I could help you answer some of those questions you have."

"You're not a woman."

"Sometimes you need a man to tell you about a woman's body. We tend to know every inch of them."

He moved so close to Sansa that she was having trouble breathing again. The deep ache to feel his touch was back again and she felt her body responding. 'Kiss me,' she thought. 'Just kiss me, _please_.'

"Careful little bird," he remarked quietly. "You're thinking so loud I can hear your thoughts." His eyes roamed over her blossomed figure and a pang of lust hit him. She was a woman now.

"I can hear yours too," she threw out.

"Let me explain."

Sansa sighed heavily. "There's nothing to explain. You paid someone to have sex with you. I may only be a recent woman, but I'm not ignorant about everything. Just because I don't talk about it or want to hear it doesn't mean I don't know about it." Of course, that was exactly the case, but he didn't need to know that. "What you do in your life is none of my concern."

"You came to apologize last night for what you said."

"I did."

"I want to hear it now."

"Why?"

"I just do."

"No. Now please leave."

Sandor's arms landed on the wall behind her, entrapping her between them and forcing her to be close. "Not until I get my apology."

"I decided you don't deserve one." She ducked under his arms and started walking but he grabbed a bicep and pulled her back. "You're hurting me."

Sandor immediately loosened his grasp but still kept her arm in his hand. "You owe me an apology."

It was so hard for her to not just grab his face and press her lips against his. It was the only thing she wanted to do and her refusal was literally painful. But she thought about what everyone had been telling her: love can't survive in King's Landing. Instead, they both needed to push each other away and that was exactly what she was going to do. "I don't owe you anything. You are not my equal. I do not respond to your commands; nor do I care about what you think you are entitled to. Now please leave."

His legendary anger was back in a flash. "I hope you liked being protected because those days are gone."

Sansa watched him skulk out of her chambers and fell onto her bed. Shae joined her and tried to comfort the girl. "It's back."

"What is?"

"That empty feeling."

"Do you get that a lot?"

"Only when he leaves."

Shae envied Sansa. She had lived longer and been with several men, but she had never felt anything like what Sansa described. "Then we must get your mind back on task. What did you think when you looked in the mirror?"

That seemed to do the trick since Sansa was chattering away again. "I didn't think it would look like that. It looks complicated."

"Only for a man who doesn't know what he's doing," Shae grinned.

"So where does it go?"

"Don't worry about that. You'll find out one day."

"Joffrey won't know what he's doing."

"Maybe it won't be Joffrey."

Sansa's eyes flittered wide. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything. I'm merely suggesting that things don't always go as planned. After all, Stannis' ships are coming. There will be a battle and if he wins, you would be free."

"I could go home."

"Maybe. Is that what you want?"

Sansa didn't know how to answer that. On one hand, she most definitely did. She missed Winterfell and her family; on the other, that would mean she wouldn't see Sandor anymore. Unless he came with her... "I have no home. Theon's captured it."

"Get it back."

"With me and what army?"

"Not all battles are fought with soldiers and a field. Take King's Landing for instance: there are no battlefields but people have died in the throne room based on a word from the king; there are no soldiers fighting each other but friends betray friends; there are no weapons but there are strategies being woven everywhere by brilliant people who know what to say and how to say it."

"I couldn't take Winterfell back even if I possessed friends and strategies. I'm to marry the king and we both know how he takes to people disobeying him."

That was true. Joffrey may have been young, but he was a vicious little bastard - literally. "Well," Shae sighed airily, "we can only pray that the gods have mercy."

"Pray," Sansa repeated to herself. "It's been a long time since I've done that."

"Such kindness in these times is not easily forgotten," the brunette remarked. "I'm sure the gods remember every word you have said."

"I hope so. I hope they hear my family." She didn't even know if her family prayed anymore. Her parents had been devoted to the gods and that had rubbed off on Sansa, but after seeing her father executed and the brutality of the king, her once solid faith had been shaken. Then again, what was the point of believing in the gods if the only time you believed in them was when everything was going your way?

"Maybe you can take a walk later and visit the godswood," Shae suggested.

"Maybe I will."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She did just that. As soon as there was a space between court and imprisonment in her own room, Sansa snuck out to the godswood. No one else was around but then again, she didn't expect to see anyone either. In King's Landing, everyone spoke about the gods but they never worshipped them.

The godswood looked very old and unused. Moss was growing over limbs that once held religious kings and queens – obviously not during the Mad King's reign. The air felt stifled as though it had been trapped in there for too long. Sansa felt a little awkward as she took a seat that she was sure belonged to one of the Targaryen kings. She closed her eyes and let herself get caught up in her prayers. She prayed for everything, but most of all she prayed for her family. No word had come about Arya, or about her mother and Robb, and there had been no news from Winterfell. The last bit was especially worrying since it was her youngest brothers at the mercy of the Greyjoys and Ramsay Snow. She refused to call him Ramsay Bolton – he didn't deserve the title of lord. She had heard whispers in court today that Winterfell's raven must have been killed since Varys could not reach his spiders. She didn't know what to believe anymore and she wasn't even sure the gods were listening when she said her prayers. But she had to try. If only one of them listened and took mercy, she would be eternally grateful. Sandor would laugh if he saw her now. A small smile played on her lips but her eyes remained sad. That man inflicted such pain and happiness on her that was impossible for her to leave him out.

"Let him be happy," she whispered. It was the final touch to a long and meaningful plea. A snapped twig caught her ear. She jumped to her feet and retreated further into the godswood. "W-Who's there?" she squeaked out.

"I-It-It's me, my lady."

"Ser Dontos?" Sansa peeked out through a hanging branch and saw the chubby fool standing in the middle of the wood. She revealed herself but kept a careful eye out for anyone else. "I was just about to leave so you can have some privacy."

"Oh no," he smiled weakly. "I have come to see you."

"Me? What for?"

"I have a proposition for you."

Her interest peaked, she came closer. "What is it?"

"I have a way for you to leave here," he whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Stannis' ships will be here in little more than a day. During the battle, we could sneak you out and put on a hidden road to Winterfell."

Sansa was stunned. "I would be able to leave?"

"Yes, my lady. But it must happen during the battle."

Without thinking, Sansa blurted out a solid "Yes! I'll do it."

"Excellent," Dontos smiled.

He turned to leave but she grabbed him. "Wait! Who's 'we'?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said, 'we could sneak you out.' Who's 'we'?"

"I'm afraid I can't reveal my accomplice. Trust me, it's for your own good."

"If it's so dangerous, why are you doing it?"

"You saved my life. I would like to repay it."

Sansa smiled at the thick man and watched him leave clumsily. "Thank you," she said to the trees. Perhaps one of the gods was listening after all.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor paced around by Sansa's room completely drunk. The wine had hit him hard tonight as he tried to forget the little bird. But as soon as he would close his eyes and succumb to the emptiness inside him, her face would appear and he would lose what sleep he managed to get. It was infuriating and he wasn't going to take it anymore.

When he heard light footsteps coming up the stairs, he ran to meet her.

"Sansa," he growled. He had scared her when he appeared and she almost fell down the stairs. He quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. She smelled of the awful flowers from the godswood. "Where have you been?"

"I was praying," she explained. "I would ask where you've been but judging from the flask in your hand and the stench of your breath I'm going to assume you've been drinking at the brothel."

"Praying," he sneered. "What a joke."

"I could say the same about drinking," she fired back. "Why do you care where I've been anyway?"

"I don't," he said, completely flustered. "I was assigned to your room so it's my duty."

"You're drinking on duty? I don't think so."

"It doesn't matter what I do on duty so long as the king thinks I'm doing my job."

"And does that job include drinking yourself into a stupor?"

"I can still fight."

"How could you possibly help me if you're too busy hanging on to your wine?"

"Because I'm the best."

"I thought Jamie Lannister was the best."

"Psht," he rasped. "Jamie Lannister wins fights because he's the son of Tywin."

"What about your brother?"

Sandor lowered his face so that it was even to hers. "Don't. Talk. About. Him. Do you hear me, girl? On your life, never talk about him. I'll cut out your tongue if you ever say his name."

Sansa gasped slightly, but still she didn't move. "Do it. I dare you."

Taken back, Sandor straightened himself to his full height. "Don't play with me, girl. You'll lose."

"I'm not playing. Do it."

Sandor grabbed her face roughly and brought her so close he could see her eyes. The two didn't say a word but instead just stared at each other. "One day," he said, finally loosening his grasp into nothing more than a soft touch. "I'll have your tongue."

"But not tonight," Sansa whispered gently. She cupped his hand in hers and kept them there, letting the fire wash over both of them.

"No, little bird. Not tonight."

It struck both of them how odd their conversations always seemed to be. He pulled his hand away slowly as he heard another person coming up the stairs. It was another guard that Sansa wasn't familiar with.

"What's going on?" the guard demanded. "Why isn't she asleep?"

"You expect her to sleep with all this noise going on outside? I can barely hear myself think."

Sansa hadn't even noticed the commotion at the front gates she had been so consumed with her own thoughts. She wanted to ask what happened, but Sandor seemed to be talking for her. Even drunk the man managed to intimidate other guards.

"What's happening outside?" she asked once Sandor ordered the other guard away.

"A riot. The people are hungry and we have food. Now get to your room and stay there."

Sansa was led by the arm roughly until he twirled her inside. "What about you?"

Another swig of wine sloshed in his mouth as he went to shut the door. "I'll be right out here."

Sansa got ready for bed slowly. She was scared that if the people were anything like they were the day Myrcella sailed, there would be some serious trouble. But Sandor said he was going to stay outside so she felt somewhat safe. She'd feel better if he wasn't drunk though. Her thoughts soon left the idea of the castle being overrun and rested on her encounter with Ser Dontos. It had been a strange turn of events and his offer had come unexpectedly. She wasn't entirely sure she could trust him, but he seemed genuinely willing to help.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After his argument with Sansa in the bathroom, Sandor slinked back to his guard duties. He stood behind the king as always and watched more people get punished simply because they were starving enough to try and steal. He snuck a few gazes over to where Sansa was, noticing her vacant expression. She had that look most of the time now while she was at court. Finally, Joffrey hung up his crown and slithered to his chambers. Sandor accompanied him for a short time until the queen showed up and demanded (gently) that Joffrey lend his favorite guard to her.

"I want you to get someone for me," she said. "A whore named Ros. She lives in Littlefinger's brothel. I believe you are acquainted with her are you not?"

Sandor said nothing but only nodded once. He didn't like where she was going with this.

"She is from Winterfell, correct?"

Again, he only nodded.

"Good. I am having dinner with my brother tonight. I do believe that after all he's done, he deserves a present. I want her brought to me."

Sandor did as commanded but he had a terrible feeling that it wasn't going to end well for Ros. The queen was anything but a gentle person who was capable of inflicting great damage to those she didn't like. And it was well known within the Keep that Tyrion was constantly at odds with her.

"Hello," the queen greeted.

"My queen," Ros curtsied.

"Hound, give her some room to breathe. We want my brother's whore to be comfortable."

"I beg pardon?" Ros asked politely.

For Sandor, he already knew where this would lead. The queen was only nice when she had something horrible up her incestuous sleeves.

"You have slept with my brother, the imp, have you not?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"You are from Winterfell and yet you chose to come to King's Landing," the queen mused. "Why?"

"Better paying customers," Ros explained.

Cersei smiled and Sandor fought the urge to vomit. She was such an ugly queen – at least in his eyes. "I'm sure. How do you like it here?"

"It's very pleasant, Your Grace."

"Good. Now, how many times has my brother been to see you?"

"Just once in Winterfell. It was the day your caravan arrived."

"I don't like liars," Cersei snapped. "Don't tell me that after my brother paid for your services, you just happened to come to King's Landing shortly after we arrived. My brother wanted you to come didn't he?"

Her accusatory tone had put Ros off balanced. "No, Your Grace. I came on my own."

"I don't believe you," the queen seethed. "Hound!"

"Your Grace," Sandor replied.

"See to it that she gets punished accordingly."

"For what?" Ros cried.

"For lying to your queen!"

The rest of the guards held on to the whore while Cersei sipped on her wine. Sandor never struck the whore since she was getting it from the rest of the men but he didn't stop it either. They were obeying orders and at the moment, the only reason why he could get away with it is because Joffrey liked him and he was the Hound. Normally, he wouldn't have cared about striking a woman. Hell, he had killed plenty of them. But she was being beaten for no other reason than she had been picked out by Tyrion months ago. 'Sansa would be begging for them to stop,' he thought dismally. Her heart would break at the sight of an innocent person being punished and she would be ashamed that he wasn't doing anything to prevent it.

"All right," he barked. "That's enough."

The men moved away and he saw Ros lying on the floor clutching her stomach. Her face was bruised and her lip had split, but she was able to stand up on her own.

"Don't help her," Cersei snapped at the Hound.

Sandor didn't waste his energy listening to the queen and helped the injured woman anyway. He could hear the queen's impatient huff as he went back to his spot.

"Take her away until I tell you to get her. She will be my brother's gift tonight."

Sandor finished the rest of his shift in a haze. He hated King's Landing with every fiber of his being. The highborns were cruel despite being called "honorable." It sickened him. Sansa would say that the men's actions tonight were anything but knightly. And she would be right. That's why he refused to become one.

He went to the brothel to distract him, but every time he would look at one of the whores, Sansa's face would appear and all he could see was the horrified expression she had when she realized where he had been. And even though she had apologized that night, it was clear that she had been deeply hurt by his actions. That alone had been his sole reason for going to her room that morning. He wanted to explain himself better. But things got interesting pretty damn fast once he reached his destination.

The first thing he had noticed was that Shae was doing nothing. She was usually doing something, whether straightening up or making sure everything was clean, she was rarely idle when he saw her. Lately, she had become more of a pillow for Sansa to cry on, but his point still stood. So when he saw her standing next to the bed and twirling a piece of hair, he could tell something was going on. He scared her when he spoke, but she recovered quickly. Her answer to his question about where Sansa was further fueled his suspicions. He was about to shake the maid when Sansa's feminine voice floated from the next room.

The following conversation was eye opening for him. It was clear just from the theme of her questions that Sansa had begun to really explore her body and that sent all kinds of lusty thoughts to his nether regions. The more she talked, the more restricting his pants had become.

'Dead kittens, Gregor, Cersei, that boygirl Lancel.' This became his mantra as he tried his best to reign in his lascivious fantasies about what Sansa was doing in the next room. To be honest, he had barely heard anything she was saying. That is until he word the word "dream." He stood a little straighter as Sansa opened the door but stopped midsentence. It was obviously his name on her lips but for some reason, she refused to finish it. Instead, she slammed the door shut.

Sandor threw Shae an exasperated look which the maid found amusing. He had to admit that he did too.

When he finally kicked the door in, there was his little bird, huddling just in front of the wall. She looked both terrified and exhilarated at the sight of him. He could smell her desire from where he was standing and it urged him on. But she refused to even entertain him and she took back her apology. He understood why she did it; after all, he was the one who pushed her away first. She was pushing back. But it also frustrated him to his core that they couldn't escape this stupid game.

But now that the confrontation was over, he just wanted to get her off his mind and if he couldn't fuck her out, he'd drink her out. He drank until he could barely see straight and then he drank some more. It was obvious early on that she wasn't going to go anywhere though. And he figured that if he had to be miserable because of her, the least he should get out of it was her company. So when he had returned to the Keep, he threatened the guard at her door that if he didn't leave, his punishment would be far worse than any the king or queen would have for him. It worked, except Sansa wasn't in her room. That worried him since there was a large crowd outside and they had begun to get louder. He walked around searching for her until the large crowd turned into a full riot. Joffrey was out on his balcony, shooting his subjects. Because nothing says "I love my people" more than shooting them. Regardless of what he thought, Sandor stayed away from the rowdy crowd until he saw his little bird flittering inside quietly. He stalked her pathway until he was able to meet up with her at the stairs.

He hadn't meant to frighten her, but she looked skittish even before he came into her view. He managed to grab hold of her just before she slipped down the stairs. He could feel her skin under the dress and it made him long for a different life: one that was far away from King's Landing and the brutal reign of the Lannisters.

Their conversation was short since a guard had interrupted them. He went ahead and lied for Sansa since he knew she was terrible at it. With his luck, she'd end up blurting out the truth and have both their heads taken off.

When he mentioned the riot, Sansa got a fearful look in her eyes. He assured her that he wasn't going anywhere though she looked doubtful because of his present state. But she didn't understand that it was her life on the line tonight. He cared nothing for his but nothing in the world would harm her, not while he was on duty. Tossing the wine flask away, Sandor stood guard at the door. He checked on her from time to time to see if she was asleep or having another "dream." A smile played on his lips as he thought about Sansa having a sex dream, especially about him. He knew that she was coming into her own but no one could help her, not like he could. He had meant what he said about her tongue being his one day. And maybe, after they survived this bloody war and barbaric city, he'd be able to take her body and soul.


	9. Kill Them All

**A/N**: So this chapter took a tremendous amount of time to write lol. It's longer than usual but that's because it's pretty intense.

Remember to review please with a cherry on top. Those little buggers make me write better and faster

Chapter 9: Kill Them All

It was his fault. There was no point in denying it. He watched Ros limp out of the queen's chambers with a load of guilt on his shoulders. It didn't matter that she was a whore or he was a killer. What mattered is that she was actually a nice person and his association with her that night led her to being beaten. The queen showed her stupidity tonight by thinking that Tyrion was in love with Ros, but Sandor knew better. Deep down, he knew that it was because of his feelings for Sansa that he went to her that night. It was a matter of synergy: Tyrion's tryst with her in Winterfell and Sandor's feelings for another redhead led them to this incident.

He stayed in the shadows as she was escorted roughly by the other guards. Joffrey had let him off early after literally picking the wings off flies...and birds. The little king was brutal and nothing satisfied his bloodlust so Sandor didn't stay in his way. Joffrey had grown bored of Sansa and her whimpering; that, and Tyrion forbade him to beat the girl. Once, Joffrey had ordered the Hound to beat her but he staunchly refused to lift a finger. He was the only one in the seven kingdoms who had the balls to stand up to the blonde tyrant. Joffrey let it go of course because for some reason, the boy favored him above everyone else. He had a feeling that it was due to his own anger and insatiable appetite for violence. But these days, his appetite had veered off the main road and onto the beaten path. But just when he thought everything could be all right, tonight reminded him that no place was safe. And despite his words to her, he would do everything in his power to keep her out of unnecessary danger, even if it killed him to be so far from her. She was everything bright in his dark world and he would keep that light going for as long as he could.

But she was running head first into trouble faster than she knew. He saw the tiny flicker of hope come across her face every time Dontos came around. It was brief, but there nevertheless. He didn't trust the disgraced knight so every chance he could, Sandor had followed him around. He was more than a little surprised and more than jealous when he realized why Sansa was going to the godswood so often.

A scuffling down the hall broke his reverie. He turned and saw the heavy fool look around skittishly before resuming his path. Sandor let out a little growl involuntary and followed behind at a decent length. Stealth was not his strong suit, but he managed to get along as best he could. If his armor made any noise, Dontos didn't notice. Then again, that wasn't a huge surprise considering he wasn't the most observant person in the world.

Down the serpentine they went, across the drawbridge, and into the godswood until Dontos disappeared through the outer layer of trees. He hesitated for a slight moment. Anything could be behind that tree line. But if his gut was right, there would only be Sansa. He went forward and followed the large footsteps. He didn't have to go very far to meet up with his target. There was a lantern by the base of a tree where Sansa was sitting. His curiosity peaked; he carefully situated himself close to the ground and watched as his little bird hugged the former knight. Jealousy almost took over until he saw that she stepped backward a few steps. He didn't seriously entertain the thought that she was interested in Dontos like that; although she did have a knack for ugly things.

He was struck by how beautiful she was in the light. The lantern and moonlight conspired to make her skin glow in the most glorious way. It looked soft and smooth. He couldn't wait to taste every inch of it.

"Ser Dontos," Sansa smiled. She had been waiting at the godswood for over an hour, making sure that no one had followed her. She kept herself busy by praying for everything that came to her head. Shae had encouraged her to get out of the Keep as much as possible and the best way was to go to the godswood. It was the only place of true solitude in the whole kingdom because no one ever went there. The brunette had also warned her that even though it was known she was religious, the queen might send some spies to see what she was up to so no matter what, she had look as though she were deep in prayer. That wasn't hard for the redhead considering what all she had to pray for. For her help, Sansa had let Shae off early and headed off to her sanctuary.

"My lady," Dontos bowed. He was caught off guard when she hugged him. It was brief, but welcomed nonetheless. "I have news."

"Are you sure no one followed you?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Please, continue. Won't you sit?"

"Thank you, my lady." He sat himself down on the branches while Sansa hovered above looking anxious. "We will have to delay your escape until after the battle. There would be much confusion and the queen will most likely have you close to her for its duration. But he says there will be a boat ready to take us to our destination when it is time."

"How sure is he that he will be able to come? What if they're late?"

"They won't be, my lady. I received a raven and he assures me that they have already left Harrenhal."

Sansa let out a relieved breath. "What must I pay him for his services?"

"He has not told me, my lady."

That worried her. Everything has its price, especially if it was coming from Littlefinger. But on the other hand, he was her mother's friend from many years past. Surely, he could be counted on to help her. "Thank you, Ser. I appreciate your doing this. It's very brave of you."

"You're the brave one, my lady."

Sansa let a small smile out before he rose to leave. "Ser Dontos," she called. "Please be careful."

"You too, my lady."

She watched him leave the same way he came in. As much as she wanted to, she was going to have to wait a while. It would look suspicious to any passerby if she came out so quickly after he did. Stretching her muscles, she raised her hands above her head and bent backwards. A twig snapped and it made her jump. "Who's there?"

Sandor cursed his large size for being so clumsy. He didn't make a sound but a small rabbit did run by him. He saw her face light up just the tiniest bit when the creature hopped in her direction. The sound was attributed to the animal and she bent down to pick it up. He could see a hint of her cleavage and he had to turn his eyes before he let out a groan. She had indeed become a woman. Her body had certainly blossomed over the past few weeks. Her clothes had started to stretch over the areas he most wanted to explore and it made him angry that he couldn't just rip them to shreds and have his way with her. As he watched her closely, a smile came to his lips at the thoughts that ran through his mind. The things he wanted do to his little bird would make a whore blush.

But for now he was content to watch her have this happiness. It had been so long since he had seen her genuine smile and he felt slightly bad for intruding on what she thought was a private moment. He couldn't leave now though. He'd make a lot of noise and he doubted that there was an army of bunnies nearby.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa knew he was watching her. His armor gave him away. But if he didn't want to come out and talk to her then who was she to disturb his peeping? She knew it wasn't proper or even polite of him to spy on her, but Sandor was none of those things on his best day. He wasn't exactly silent either. In fact, she had been aware of his presence since she hugged Ser Dontos. There had been a feeling she hadn't been able to identify but it reminded her of when she would catch him looking at her. It made her feel safe. So she settled for the little bunny that was keeping her company. Her mind was full from fantasies that ranged from leaving the Keep to staying just so she could be close to him. If she left, she would miss him – terribly so. She wasn't sure she could even survive without him. Despite their arguments, she knew he cared about her and she was in the same boat.

She gently put the rabbit down and made her way back to the Keep. Just as she reached the top of the serpentine, he caught her by the wrist and flung her into a darkened corner. Her breath caught in her throat as he closed the distance between them. A guard walked by but since they were so hidden, he didn't see them.

"You must be more careful," he said roughly. "Being around Dontos is a sure way to ensure the queen's curiosity is trained on you."

He was so close. She could feel he was only a few inches from her face. If she stepped on her tip toes she could kiss him. "How do you know about Ser Dontos?"

"He isn't a ser," he sneered.

"He is to me."

"That's a romantic notion. One that could get you killed."

"He wants to help me. What's wrong with that?"

"_He_ doesn't want to help you. Littlefinger does. That's a big difference, little bird."

"He wants nothing in return."

"You would trust a man who betrayed your father?"

"As opposed to you who stood by and did nothing? You saw what was happening. You knew my father was right and yet you let him die."

Ouch. He knew she'd bring that up eventually. "I did my job. It wasn't my fault your father was too honorable to play the game."

"What game?"

"_The_ game," he huffed. As much as he loved her innocence, her naivety could be frustrating. "It's what Littlefinger, Varys, the queen, Tyrion and everyone else at court plays. They're using you, little bird and you're playing right into their hands. Littlefinger doesn't want to help you out of the goodness of his heart. He doesn't have one!"

"What would you have me do? I won't stay a prisoner and become Joffrey's wife. I can't."

He could sense her fear at the thought. "Use that head of yours and don't trust anyone."

Sansa was released from his grasp and he disappeared just as quickly as he came. She ran as quickly as she could to her room and locked the door. He had been so close! Her heart was still skipping its beats from the experience. She had heard what he said, but her body was dying for another touch. Something had awoken in that little moment and she felt an urgency inside her that rivaled any dream she had before.

"_Every woman should know their body."_

Damn it, that's just what she was going to do. Whatever this feeling was, it was bringing out her primal instincts. It was both frightening and exhilarating. She collapsed on her bed and laid there for a moment, remembering his hands on her shoulders and his hot breath so close to her own mouth. She let out a moan and her snaked down her body on its own accord. It kept going until she cupped herself. Her eyes flittered open at the sensation. She hadn't realized that was where the feeling was coming from. She pressed even harder and her eyes closed tight. It felt good and it was relieving the tension. Her clothes felt bothersome and irritated her sensitive skin. With quick hands, she removed them and tossed them away. The cool air formed tiny goose bumps as she resumed her actions. Closing her eyes again, she delved deep into her most unlady-like fantasies.

Her legs parted as she thought about Sandor between them. Images of his black hair crawling down her stomach and his lips on her skin drove her to push a finger inside herself. At first she was horrified that she did it. It wasn't proper and it certainly wasn't what a lady was supposed to do. But something kept urging her forward, seeking a relief to the building pressure. She had no idea what to do so she let instincts take over. Soon, she was panting hard as her finger worked its way inside her. Without warning, a strong wave of pleasure overcame her and she let out a deep moan at the feeling. Pulling out the digit, she found it was soaked with the same liquid that accompanied her dream. She quickly wiped it clean and did the same with her legs. The feeling was gone, but instead of being relieved, she once again felt hollow. Something was missing.

Across the castle, Sandor wasn't fairing much better. He had sought his relief of course but he too felt something was missing. But unlike Sansa, he knew exactly what it was. It had been a while since he had actually been with a woman. Joffrey had become paranoid ever since the riot when Myrcella sailed; but every spare moment, Sandor could think of nothing save for Sansa. It was driving him near his breaking point that he was so close to her, especially this last time, and could do nothing about it. He wasn't even sure she heard what he saying. Her desire was evident even in the dark. It took every ounce of his will to stop himself from kissing her. It would have been easy. She wanted it just as much as he did. But he knew that once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop and he couldn't do that to her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next afternoon, everything was different. People were far more tense than usual and even the queen was more spiteful than her normal self. Sansa noticed it right away with Tyrion. He genuinely seemed worried for what was coming. Shae had told her that Stannis' army would be in the bay in just a few short hours and the battle would begin.

"Does this mean he would fight?"

"Yes," Shae said sadly. Her man would fight too and it worried her.

Sansa's breath caught in her throat and she tried to put on a mask of aloofness. "He's bred for this sort of thing. The only man in the kingdoms that could match him is his brother so he should be fine. Right?"

"Let us pray for it to be so."

Sansa had an overwhelming desire to see her non-knight come back alive. "Shae? Can you find me someone?"

"Of course, milady."

A sparkle of hope came to Sansa's blue eyes. "Good. Once you find him, please bring him to the godswood. I shall be there waiting." Sansa told her the name and Shae smiled.

"Oh, I know exactly where he is."

Sansa quickly made her way down to the godswood again, this time being absolutely sure that Sandor was nowhere nearby. The wait was considerably shorter than she expected.

"Milady," Bronn called out. He bowed slightly before her but she dismissed it.

"Please, I don't want to be so formal. Not with the request I have."

Bronn looked utterly confused. "What is it?"

"Stannis is coming and the men are to fight."

"That's usually what happens in a battle."

"I need you to keep an eye out for someone - but you can't let him know! If word gets to him that I asked this...well, it wouldn't be very pretty."

"Who is it?"

"The Hound."

The silent scoff from Bronn deflated Sansa. "What do you think goes on in a battle? The only person you think about in that situation is yourself because you don't have time to think about anyone else. Besides, that's one man who can take care of himself."

"I know he can," she defended gently. "And I know I've never seen a battle, but I beg of you to make sure he comes back. I will forever be in your debt if you do."

Bronn suddenly clued in to her intentions. "Why him? There are thousands of other men who have families who wish that someone could keep an eye out for them."

"I know," she said sadly. "And I feel guilty for even thinking about it, but none of those men are mine."

Bronn raised an eyebrow. He had to give her credit for courage to love a man like Clegane. "Does he know?"

"I'm not sure. I just want him to come back. I don't care if we're granted a blessing and are able to be together. I just need him alive."

"You really love him huh?"

"Yes," she replied instantly. "But he can't know that either. And neither can the king."

"He won't hear it from my lips," Bronn said casually. "To be honest, I'm not even sure I'll be in the same vicinity as him."

"I understand," Sansa replied, defeat evident in her voice.

Bronn took a long look at the lady in front of him. She was young, beautiful – the most beautiful he had seen in all his years if he were honest – and desperate for his help. He took a sniff and declared, "All right. I'll see what I can do."

"Really?"

"Really. I'm not making any promises, you understand," he clarified in his thick accent.

"I understand. Oh, thank you!" Sansa flung herself at Bronn and unlike Dontos, he responded. It wasn't a hearty response, but he grabbed her waist with one hand while she hugged him with both. She pressed a light kiss on his cheek. "Thank you so much! I'm always in your debt."

Bronn smiled at her. "It's on the house. I haven't been kissed by a beautiful woman in a while."

Sansa let out a bright smile. "I hope you know that I wish for your safe return as well."

"Thank you, milady."

They said their goodbyes shortly afterward with Sansa feeling better than she had in days. At least she tried her best to make sure Sandor would come back. It gave her a little bit of hope. She knew Sandor could take care of himself and she also knew that he would probably be furious if he knew that she treated him like a weakling. He was strong and she understood that a man like him got their confidence from being the strongest. But his pride would get him killed and she couldn't take that chance.

"How was your little moment with Bronn?"

Sansa flew around to see Sandor leaning against the wall. He looked beyond irate. "What?"

"Don't act like that," he spat. "I saw you and him in the godswood."

"How-"

"Tell me; did you flirt with me just for the protection against the king?"

"What? Of course not!"

"Then why did you kiss him!"

"Sandor, it's not what you think."

"How long have you been meeting him?" When she didn't respond, he punched the wall with his fist. "How long?!" he bellowed.

Sansa didn't move despite her fear. "Stop acting like a jealous brute!"

"Jealous?" he laughed. "Why should I be jealous? You're nothing but a stupid girl."

It was hard for her to swallow his insults, but she knew the reason he was angry. "I'm not the one who is stupid in this instance. If you would allow me to explain-"

"Why? So you could lie and tell me what I want to hear like those other dullards at court?"

"No."

"Yes you would. It's what you do. I guess I was wrong: you were playing the game."

"I wasn't. For the gods' sakes, will you just be quiet for half a moment, please!" She saw him lean back against the wall again and decided this was her opening. "I can't tell you why he was there, but I don't have any feelings for Bronn."

"Then why did you kiss him?"

"It was just a peck," she sighed. "It didn't mean anything."

"You don't really expect me to believe that do you?"

Her patience had run out. "You know what? Believe whatever you want. I'm through talking to an immature ogre who has nothing better to do than take everything I say and do out of context. Good luck, Ser Sandor." She didn't want to leave him with such a spiteful conversation so she turned around and quietly said, "And do what you must to come back alive."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor watched as she walked demurely back to her room. He was so angry; he wasn't sure what he would have done if she had stayed. 'Fuck her sentiments,' he thought. He growled at her back and headed off to his own destination, which was currently the armory to prepare for the battle.

His armor was getting hammered back into place and polished for the upcoming invasion. But as Sandor looked around, he noticed a good deal of the Lannister men were nowhere to be seen.

"Where is everyone?" he asked the blacksmith.

"The Captain of the guard took them to a brothel to boost their morale for tonight."

'Figures,' Sandor thought. "Is the king's armor ready?"

"It's here." The blacksmith held up the red and gold breastplate.

Sandor let an eyebrow go up. "Lannister colors?"

"That's what the queen ordered. I thought it was strange too. Gives credence to those rumors, doesn't it?"

A grunt was Sandor's reply. Of course he knew that the little shit was a bastard, but it was obvious that Cersei wasn't trying her hardest to hide that fact. He saw another breastplate beside it and picked it up. "What's this? Did the king grow tits?"

"No," the blacksmith smirked. "That's for the queen."

"Is she planning to fight?"

"Maybe. She's invited Lady Sansa to Maegor's Holdfast so I think there might be a battle of a different kind brewing for her."

That caught Sandor's attention. "What do you mean?"

The blacksmith swallowed hard at his slip of the tongue. "N-Nothing." Sandor's hand flew to the man's throat and squeezed. "The queen loathes the Stark girl. She plans on having her killed if the city is sacked."

Sandor released the man. "Who else knows this?"

"I'm not sure. I overheard it when the queen was talking to Maester Pycelle the day she ordered her own armor."

'That bitch!' he yelled to himself. "You're sure that's what she said."

"I'm certain."

"Why would she say that when you were within earshot?" Cersei was usually far more careful.

"You know how it is with highborns: they think we're deaf, dumb and blind to everything they do."

"Did she say how?"

"No," the man shook his head. "But I heard that Sir Ilyn would be their guard."

"The royal executioner." Now it made sense. He wanted to warn Sansa but there was literally no spare moment that he could.

He gathered his armor and went back to his room, stopping on the way at Tyrion's room. He knew the little lord would be in there. He banged on the door with force.

"Come in, Clegane," Tyrion called.

"My lord," Sandor addressed. "I have something to ask of you."

Tyrion glanced up at the Hound. He was thoroughly interested in what the man had to say. He motioned for Sandor to sit. "What can I do for the king's sworn shield?"

"I have heard from a trusted source that your sister plans on killing Sansa should the battle go awry."

Tyrion looked bothered. "You have sources? Since when?"

"It doesn't matter. They heard it from the queen herself."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Anything you can."

The truth was that Tyrion had already known Cersei's plan courtesy of Varys. "I cannot help her when I am on the battlefield."

"Then what's the point of you being around?"

"I'm going to let that go for two reasons: one, you're much bigger than me and can cut me in half; and two, you are in love. And a man who is in love is desperate."

"I don't love."

"Oh, Clegane," Tyrion sighed. "Don't miss out on something grand just because of your insecurities. I'll do what I can but I'm afraid Sansa must fend for herself if the time comes. Now, I believe we have just enough time for a drink before the battle. Would you care to join me?" Sandor huffed loudly and stalked out of the room. "I guess not."

By nightfall, the atmosphere had reached fever pitched. People were wound tightly as they tried to carry on as usual while preparing for the worst. Stannis' ships were sailing toward them as Sansa stood out on her balcony. Her mind was racing with the different scenarios that could happen tonight. She prayed that Stannis would win but at the same time, she worried that he would kill everyone who associated with the Lannister – including Sandor. She couldn't have that. On the other hand, if the Lannisters won, she would have to stay here. And she certainly didn't want that. She didn't even know Stannis all that well. It was her father that he was fond of.

Peering down below, she saw a large shape walking out of the Keep and instantly recognized it as Sandor. She had half hoped that he would come to her tonight so they could settle things between them. But even from her room she could see he was angry. He had taken things so out of context earlier and frankly, she was a little perturbed at the way he acted. It was cute to her though how jealous he was. But to think she would even entertain thoughts about Bronn in that way was insulting. Did he really have such little faith in her?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor cursed under his breath. He could hear that little asshole singing in the brothel. That was good. He would exact his revenge on Bronn in public for doing...whatever it was that he did in order to get Sansa to kiss him. As he walked in, he saw a naked whore on Bronn's lap. That didn't surprise him in the least.

"Welcome friends," Bronn exclaimed. The Hound went to a table and without blinking its former occupants fled the scene. "This round's on me." Even to Bronn, the man appeared angrier than usual. If the Hound could shoot daggers through his eyes, he'd be dead ten times over. Even his voice annoyed Sandor. The man whose seat he was taking gave him his drink. Bronn looked at the man next to him. There was something off the Hound tonight - like he was itching for a fight. And the Hound's eyes were set on him with severe determination. The whore on his lap shuddered a little as did the room. "I don't think he likes me," Bronn whispered to the woman.

Sandor took a long drink of the wine. He stared at Bronn but to his chagrin, the man just seemed amused. "You think you're a hard man?" he said.

"Oh," Bronn chuckled. "I know it." The rest of the men laughed but one look from the Hound had them shutting up. Sandor looked disgusted. Bronn was amazed that someone like Sansa had such affection for a man like Sandor. 'What does that girl see in him?' he thought. "It's warm in here. We've got beautiful women and good brown ale; plenty for everyone. And all you want to do is put one of us in the cold ground with no women to keep us company."

"Oh there's women in the ground," Sandor stated. "I put some there myself." A flash of him in the godswood with Sansa flew into his mind. "So have you." Finally, there was a reaction from Bronn. "You like fucking, drinking, and singing" – he put as much acid in his voice for that last item. It reminded him of Sansa's songs – "but killing, killing's the thing you love. You're just like me. Only smaller."

Bronn honestly had no idea what the Hound's problem was. The man stood and walked toward him like he was an executioner. "And quicker, eh?" he retorted. He thought it was funny, but no one else did, especially not Sandor. Obviously, the man didn't get his sense of humor – if he had one to begin with.

Sandor had enough. "Your lord imp's going to miss you."

Bronn saw that nothing was going to defer the Hound's aim. Clearly, the man wanted his head. "Aye." He put the whore off his knee and stood. "I expect he will someday."

The two men stared at each other. Sandor wanted nothing more than to stick his sword through Bronn's fucking head; Bronn was ready to defend himself. He didn't want to kill the Hound because what good was his word to Sansa if he broke it by killing the man himself? He was a sellsword, not a politician. Besides, he liked Sansa and he figured she'd been through too much already for a girl her age.

Suddenly, the bells rang. The men looked defeated already as they took their last gulps – some for the very last. As the others went to their posts, Sandor and Bronn continued to look at each other.

"One more drink before the war? Shall we?" Bronn offered. The Hound merely pursed his lips and turned to a table. The men sat and refilled their cups. "Now, what was that about?"

"Don't act like you don't know."

"I don't."

Sandor took another drink. "I saw you and the Stark girl in the godswood."

"So?" Bronn shrugged.

"She kissed you."

"As a thank you."

"For what?"

"I promised the lady I wouldn't tell."

Another gulp. "What'd she want?"

"I don't believe that's any of your business. But since you asked so politely, she wanted me to tell you that she will be praying for your safe return." That was a safe lie. It was close enough to the truth anyway.

"Why'd she tell you that?"

"Probably because she likes me."

"Do you like her?"

"I admire her, yeah. But I can see it in your face that you're jealous and you shouldn't be. Trust me on this one. That girl is head over heels for someone else, though only the gods know why."

"Who?" Sandor asked, trying hard to not put too much curiosity in his voice.

"Seven hells, man," Bronn scoffed. He took a long drink of his ale before putting some coins on the table. "Tell you what: you survive tonight and I have a feeling you'll find out soon enough."

Sandor watched the man leave, laughing and shaking his head. He hadn't dared to actually think that it was true. All the months of arguing, insulting, and pushing away hadn't deterred her at all. But he couldn't get his hopes up. Not after what he accused her of earlier.

"Hound," a boy cried. "The king needs you."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Joffrey's armor was lavish for sure, though everyone who knew him rolled their eyes whenever he would speak about riding out to meet Stannis. They all knew not a drop of blood would be on that armor by the end of the night.

"Make sure it's tight," the blonde king yelped. "Ah! Too tight!" he smacked the squire's head hard and shifted his breastplate. "Dog, fetch someone to bring Sansa. I wish for her to see me off."

Sandor bowed slightly before grabbing Shae out of the corridor. "The king wants Sansa."

"But why? We are supposed to go to the Holdfast before the battle. The queen demanded it."

"King trumps queen," Sandor said roughly. "Make sure she looks well. It might give the other men a lasting impression of what they're fighting for."

"Them or you?"

"Just get her," he snapped. He stopped for a moment to really listen to the bells. It seemed liked time had stopped for a just a fraction of a second. The air was eerily calm, allowing the bells ringing to reverberate throughout the Keep. Then he was on his way again.

When he walked back to Joffrey's room, the child king was getting to leave. He pulled out his sword and held it to the light. "Look, dog. Is this not the sword of a king?"

"It is, Your Grace," Sandor droned.

"Is my betrothed coming?"

"She's arriving now."

"Excellent." He started for the throne room with several men behind him. Sandor heard him cry out, "Sansa! Sansa, come here!"

Sandor was struck by how mature the Stark girl looked. Gone was the shy, naïve girl. It had left to make way for the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She looked beautiful, graceful. She looked like a woman.

"Your king rides to battle," Joffrey boasted. "You should see him off with a kiss." Sandor hoped to the seven hells he wouldn't have stand there and watch Sansa kiss that idiot. Instead, he watched Joffrey pull out his sword. "My new blade. Hearteater, I've named it." There was a slight pause before he commanded, "Kiss it."

Sansa was sure she looked self-conscious as she bent down and pressed her lips to the sword.

"You'll kiss it again when I return," the king declared. He sheathed the sword hard. "Taste my uncle's blood."

Sansa seriously doubted that but she never let it show. Instead, she put it in her voice. "Will you slay him yourself?"

Just as she suspected, Joffrey was caught off guard. "If Stannis is fool enough to come near me."

"So you'll be outside the gates, fighting the vanguard?" she challenged in a subtle way.

Joffrey was put off. Sandor suspected he was slightly embarrassed at being questioned in front of his men. "A king doesn't discuss battle plans with stupid girls."

Sandor narrowed his eyes. Sansa was far from stupid. In fact, at the present moment, she was making him look like the stupid one.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace; you're right. I'm stupid," Sansa stated. "Of course you'll be in the vanguard. They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest. And he's only a pretender." It pained her to say the last part. But she had rattled Joffrey's cage, which was her small reward.

"Your brother's turn will come," Joffrey warned. "Then you can lick his blood off Hearteater too."

Sansa wanted smack the blonde right off his head. She watched as the king walked away and then joined Shae.

"Some of those boys will never come back," the brunette said.

"Joffrey will. The worst ones always live."

"Shh," Shae warned quietly. "Come, my lady."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The men outside were restless. Sandor let the boy king walk ahead even though it was clear he didn't know what to do. They mounted their positions with Tyrion high above the water. But instead of seeing a bay full of ships, there was nothing but the water to look at.

"Where's our fleet?" Lancel screeched. At least he asked. Sandor was wondering the same thing but he wasn't stupid enough to ask.

"Away." It was Tyrion's only reply. It was obvious that the half man had a plan and a great deal on his mind.

"Why isn't it here now? They're coming," Joffrey bleated. Tyrion ignored the question. "Hound, tell the Hand that his king has asked him a question."

Was he serious? With a roll of his eyes, Sandor said, "The king has asked you a question." The boredom in his voice was evident to everyone except for Joffrey.

"Lancel, tell the Hound to tell the king that the Hand is extremely busy."

Sandor thought Lancel looked just as put out as him - only more anxious. But whether it was from the impending battle or the immature conversation, he didn't know. "The Hand of the King would like me to tell you to tell the king that-"

"If I tell the Hound to cut you in half, he'll do it without a second thought," Joffrey declared.

"That would make me the Quarter Man and it just doesn't have the same ring to it," Tyrion quipped. Sandor could have chuckled had it not been for the torch of flame that just appeared next to his face. "Cut me in half and I won't be able to give the signal. No signal, no plan. No plan and Stannis Baratheon sacks this city, takes the Iron Throne, puts your pidgin little head atop a gate somewhere. It might be quite amusing – except my head will be up there too. I much like my head and don't want to see it removed just yet."

Sandor had to give it Tyrion. But there was fire everywhere and he himself was getting more anxious the more they lit everything. Why, out of everything that was at the imp's disposal, did he have to choose fire? It was a barbaric way to die; and an even worse fate to suffer should you live through it. He prayed to whatever gods there were that he wouldn't have to fight in it. 'Anything but fire,' he pleaded silently.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa and Shae were escorted into the bunker where several other highborn ladies and their maids were waiting. There was no sign of Cersei so Sansa took a seat and Shae did the same. Neither of them could talk about what was really on their minds so they settled for silence.

Finally, the queen arrived, looking ridiculous with a gold plated corset over her gown. Tommen was in tow and Sansa couldn't help but feel sorry for the young boy. "I don't know why she wants me here," she whispered to Shae. "She's always saying how stupid I am; she hates me."

"Maybe she hates you less than she hates everyone else," Shae suggested.

"I doubt it."

"Maybe she's jealous of you." That definitely seemed a more plausible explanation.

Sansa looked confused. The queen had everything. "Why would she be jealous?"

"Sansa," the queen called. Sansa walked to the seat. "I was wondering where our little dove had flown. You look pale, child. Is your red flower still blooming?"

That was an awkward way to start a conversation in Sansa's opinion. "Yes."

"Fitting isn't it? The men will bleed out there and you will bleed in here." She grabbed a cup from the table. "Pour Lady Sansa some wine."

One minute around Cersei and Sansa was already sick. "I'm not thirsty, Your Grace."

"So? I didn't offer you water."

Sansa took the cup and noticed Ilyn Payne standing off to the side. She loathed that man. "What's he doing here?"

"Ser Ilyn? He's here to defend us. When the axes smash those doors, you may be glad to have him."

Sansa trusted only one man in that regard. "But we have guards to defend us."

"Guards that are paid," Cersei explained. She had a way of making Sansa feel like a child. "Should the city fall, they'll be the first ones out the doors."

While Sansa tried to wrap her head around that truth, a man came in and announced that people had been caught stealing. The queen demanded that they be executed as a warning. Cersei told offered her a piece of advice – something about people learning to fear her more than the enemy. It struck Sansa for the first time just how cruel Cersei really was. The men in the North weren't loyal to the Starks out of fear. Those men would have gladly given their lives to spare her father's out their love for him. In Sansa's opinion, that's why the Starks had a strong army even before the war while the Lannisters had to pay for theirs. No Northern man would run away if a Stark was in danger; the Lannister men would. "You said he was here to protect us," she said, referring to Ilyn.

"He is. Traitors are a danger to us all." The queen held her cup out. "More wine."

'Maybe if they loved you, you wouldn't have to worry about that,' Sansa thought.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The night was still save for puffs of breath from the men. The eerie quiet lingered through the noise of last minute details being put into place. Every man on the wall was keeping watch for any sign of life on the water.

"There," Joffrey pointed.

Sure enough, there were the sails of Stannis' ships as they emerged from the fog. It reminded Sandor of the pirates in tales his father used to tell him long ago.

"Archers to the mark," ordered Tyrion. His command was repeated down the line. With those four simple words – words that no one ever paid attention to when used separately – the full blast of what was about to happen hit the army. The archers pulled their arrows out. "Hold fast."

Again, the order was repeated.

"What are you doing," Joffrey squealed. "We need to attack them!"

"Hold fast," Tyrion repeated firmly.

A lone ship appeared on the water from their side. "There's only one ship," Joffrey stated, as if no one else could see it. "Where are the rest of them?" Tyrion once more ignored the question. "Where are the rest of them?!"

The sound of Stannis' drums pierced through the endless mist that settled on the water.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sandor saw the pyromancer Hallyne creep up the stairs. He stood a few feet away from everyone but the glint in his eye could be seen by all. His glee when he handed Tyrion a torch made Sandor sick, not because of the impending outcome but because any man who enjoys handling fire the way Hallyne did, disturbed him.

Tyrion noticed the Hound's flinch when the torch came close but he was too busy with his task. He flung the torch over the side when it was the right moment and prayed Bronn knew what he was doing.

In the distance, Sandor saw a single flame at the edge of the bay where the ships were coming in. It soared through the air until it landed on the water. But before anyone could say anything, a giant ball of green flames skipped across a trail before sending a massive explosion that was felt all the way back to the Keep. Green flames licked the blackened sky as screams from Stannis' men were heard.

Sandor was speechless. He had never such a massive fire before. The screams and images that his imagination (and experience) came up with were sure to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Tyrion glanced at his nephew and was disgusted to find that the boy looked as joyful as Hallyne. But the Hound...his face was anything but good.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa had gathered a few women into a circle and began to pray. She had an overwhelming urge to do so no more than a few minutes ago. She prayed hard for the innocent men and Sandor and Tyrion as well. She was more than a little annoyed when the queen called for her yet again. Even as she walked up she could tell the queen was in a mocking mood. "My Queen."

"What are you doing?" Cersei said with feigned interest.

"Praying."

"You're perfect aren't you? Praying." she spat. There was such resentment in her voice. "What are you praying?"

"For the gods to have mercy on us all."

"Oh. On all of us?"

"Yes, Your Grace." Sansa wondered where she was going with this.

"Even me?" the queen teased.

"Of course, Your Grace."

Cersei's face turned sour. "Even Joffrey?"

Uh oh. Sansa tried hard to find it in her to lie. "Joffrey is my one-"

"Oh shut up, you little fool. Praying to the gods to have mercy on us all," she ridiculed in a high, feminine voice. "The gods have no mercy, that's why they're gods. My father told me that when he caught me praying. My mother had just died, you see and I didn't really understand the concept of death – the finality of it. I thought that if I prayed very, very hard the gods would return my mother to me. I was a fool."

"Your father doesn't believe in the gods?" Sansa asked, bewildered. Granted, Sandor didn't believe them either and mocked her belief in them but still.

"He believes in them, he just doesn't like them very much." She grabbed another cup and held it out. "One for her." After the maid poured the drink, Sansa took it. "Here. Sit. Drink." Cersei got irritated with Sansa's demureness. "Not like that. Drink, girl."

Sansa reluctantly took a bigger gulp. She didn't want to sit here with the queen. She'd much rather be back with the other ladies or with Shae. But she firmly believed that the queen was lonely in order to call on Sansa. Even though all she did was mock and insult her, Cersei still kept her around to talk to.

"I should have been born a man," Cersei remarked, drawing Sansa from her thoughts. "I'd rather face a thousand swords than be shut up inside with this flock of frightened hens."

Sansa couldn't believe what she was hearing. "They're your guests, under your protection. You asked them here." Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

"It was expected of me as it will be of you if you ever become Joffrey's queen," Cersei scorned. "If my wretched brother should somehow prevail, these hens will return to their cocks and crow of how my courage inspired them, lifted their spirits."

It amazed Sansa how one woman could be so selfish. "And if the city should fall?"

Cersei glared at her. "You'd like that wouldn't you?" Sansa wasn't even going to try and answer that one. "The Red Keep should hold for a time; long enough for me to go to the walls and yield to Lord Stannis in person. If it were anyone else outside those gates, I might have hoped for a private audience but this is _Stannis Baratheon_: I'd have a better chance of seducing his horse." Sansa was stunned. It seemed to amuse Cersei. "Have I shocked you, little dove? Tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The best one's between your legs. Learn how to use it. Drink."

Sansa's hands were shaking. She was disgusted by the queen's words. She had only very recently really started to explore her body. How could Cersei just throw hers at whichever man comes by?

"Do you have any notion of what happens when a city is sacked?" the queen continued. "No, you wouldn't. If the city falls, these fine women should be in for a bit of rape. Half of them will have bastards in their bellies come morning. You'll be glad for your red flower then. When a man's blood is up, anything with tits looks good. A precious thing like you would look very, very good – a slice of cake just waiting to be eaten."

The worst part for Sansa was knowing that the queen was right. It wasn't kind of her to say it, but that didn't diminish the fact that it was true. She took a large drink at the thought of some large, sweaty man chasing her down and raping her, just like the day of the riot when Myrcella sailed. She remembered how petrified she was at what was about to happen. Now, that scenario could be done a dozen times and there would be no one there to help her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor could see the longboats rowing to shore and he knew his time was coming when he would have to go out there. As much as he loved killing, his fear of fire negated any benefits that would afford him the pleasure of ripping a man's life from this world. Stannis' sword gleamed from the moonlight, signaling the incoming attack.

"He's a serious man, Stannis Baratheon," Tyrion mused out loud.

"They're coming ashore," Joffrey announced. Again, like it wasn't obvious to everyone who had a pair of working eyes.

"Rain fire on them," Tyrion ordered calmly.

"There are too many," Joffrey bleated.

"Hound, form a welcoming party for any Baratheon troop that manages to touch solid ground," the little lord ordered.

Sandor sucked in a sharp breath. Tyrion wanted him to fight with flaming arrows raining down around him? "Let's go," he barked to his men. "Stannis is bringing us fresh meat." That boy-girl Lancel just happened to be in the way. "You too." Sandor thrust a helmet at the blonde. Being in an unforgiving mood, he walked over to the archery master. "If any of those flaming fucking arrows come near me, I'll strangle you with your own guts," he promised.

The noise from the armor rattling just outside the gates rose like music to Sandor's ears. "If any man dies with a clean sword, I'll rape his fucking corpse!" he bellowed. He had barely gotten the words out when he cut down one of the Baratheon men.

But they were sorely outnumbered. He could see that as plain as day. It made him even angrier. He swung hard at an approaching man and with one swing, cut him in half. But they had underestimated the Baratheon troops. They knew their strength lied in their numbers and they easily cut through a significant amount of Sandor's own force.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa was dreading every word the queen was saying. Why couldn't Cersei just leave her alone? She had heard tales of the queen's childhood, her mother, her father, days of the Mad King, and now she was onto her brother, Jamie. But then she made such a strange comment about Robert Baratheon.

"You were Robert's queen," Sansa stated.

"And you will be Joffrey's," Cersei retorted. "Enjoy."

Had Robert Baratheon truly been that bad of a husband? He didn't seem like it. Of course, Joffrey didn't seem like a monster when she had first him and now look where they stood.

"I don't think I know this one," Cersei said, gesturing to Shae. She stood and walked to where the brunette was sitting. "Pretty." The woman tried to curtsey but it was so bad that it was funny. "That's the worst curtsey I've ever seen," Cersei chuckled. "Here, it's not difficult; I mastered it when I was four."

Sansa watched the queen teach Shae how to do a proper curtsey. It had never occurred to her that Shae didn't know how to do it. Otherwise, she would have taught the maid herself. Shae copied the queen's movements.

"Better. You learn fast," Cersei said. "How long have you been in Lady Sansa's service?"

"A few weeks, Your Grace."

Cersei reclaimed her seat. There was something off about this particular maid. "When did you leave Lorath?" Shae seemed confused as to how she knew her accent. "I had a Baratheon handmaid once. But she was a nobleman's daughter. You're not." Shae glared as much as she dared at the queen. "When did you come to Westeros?"

"Ten years ago, Your Grace," Shae bit out.

"From a Lorathe commoner to the Red Keep – in ten years; all without learning how to curtesy? I imagine that's a very interesting story. What's your name?"

"Shae, Your Grace."

Sansa didn't like her friend being questioned. Cersei seemed to really have it out for her and she knew that when the queen set her eyes on something, she was determined to see it through. Although she did have a point about a commoner from a foreign land making her way through the ranks until she was a lady's handmaid and never learning to curtsey. That was rather unique, if not suspicious.

"Tell us a story, Shae," the queen challenged.

She hesitated slightly. "When I was thirteen, I-"

Thankfully, Lancel had burst the door, saving both Sansa and Shae's neck from further scrutiny. While Sansa listened to Lancel give the queen an update on the battle, Shae took the opportunity to slip away. She didn't want to be in the line of fire any more than was necessary.

Sansa eavesdropped on the queen and Lancel's conversation. She hadn't heard anything about the Hound so she assumed he was still alive. Joffrey's sworn shield dying would have been a major blow to the king. She silently thanked the gods for keeping him safe. Then she heard Cersei demand that Joffrey be brought back inside. Sansa controlled the urge to denounce Cersei herself as little more than a coward. Sansa may not have been knowledgeable in warfare, but she knew that any king worth his salt stayed with his men.

"When I told you about Sir Ilyn earlier, I lied," Cersei confessed. "You want to hear the truth? You want to know why he's really here? He's here for us. Stannis may take the city, he may take the throne, but he will not take us alive."

There was a firm resolution to Cersei's voice that Sansa hadn't heard this whole night. When she glanced over at Ser Ilyn, his ugly face couldn't conceal the inevitable sadness that was in them. It was a look that Sansa learned well from the men at court whenever she was beaten by one of Joffrey's men. She hated Ser Ilyn, but in that moment, he was more human than she had ever seen him be before.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was the natural born rage that kept Sandor going. He fielded over a dozen men as waves of enemies approached. He saw his men cut down and maimed from their own fights. No one was left untouched by the assault.

Out of nowhere, a man on fire charged, screaming like a bloodthirsty animal. Sandor froze in his steps. The fire was coming closer and all he could do was remember the feeling of his flesh being melted. His skin tingled at the memory that was a constant presence in his mind.

Closer...closer...the fire jumped from the man's clothes even as he waved his weapon around. Still, Sandor's body wouldn't move. It couldn't. His death was running toward him and he was doing nothing.

Then, there was nothing. The man fell before he put his other foot down. An arrow was stuck in his eye. Sandor looked up and saw Bronn with a wide smirk. Then the sellsword took out two other men. That's when Sandor noticed just how lost this cause was. He saw over half his men lying on the ground. Their red and gold armor masked their bodily wounds but their faces were still unrecognizable. And the fire was everywhere, slowly creeping its way up to him as though they were old friends.

He slowly retreated backward. He heard another man call for the remaining survivors to fall back. The gate slammed shut behind them, but Sandor barely registered the noise. Everyone was rushing around and orders were being given for more arrows.

"Someone bring me a drink," Sandor demanded. Some page boy brought him a skinned flask of water. He quickly spit out. "Fuck the water. Bring me wine." The cool liquid instantly soothed his frayed nerves, but did nothing for the enormous fear he was experiencing.

"Can I get you a nice bowl of raspberries, too?" Tyrion said.

Sandor hadn't heard the first part, but the second put him in an even fouler mood. "Eat shit, dwarf."

Tyrion huffed slightly at the insult. "You're on the wrong side of the wall."

'What the hell does he know about fighting a battle?' Sandor thought. "I lost half my men. The Blackwater's on fire." He desperately hoped the only smart Lannister would pick up on what he was trying to say.

Tyrion did. Joffrey however didn't. "Dog, I command you to go out and fight," Joffrey screeched.

The king's voice grated on the only last nerve Sandor had. But he was too much into his thoughts to pay attention. Instead, he simply shook his head. He couldn't do it.

Tyrion understood what was happening and tried to reason with the man. Yes, the Hound was terrified of fire, but there was something more important at stake than King's Landing. Unfortunately, he couldn't just come out and say it with Joffrey standing right behind him. "You're King's guard, Clegane. You must beat them back."

Sandor took another gulp. Tyrion could see talking to him about the city, the guard, and especially the king wouldn't move him. So he carefully hurried down the stairs until he was close enough to smell the blood on the Hound's armor. "If you don't fight, another will pay for it." Finally, a flicker of something else other than defeat stirred in the Hound's eyes. Tyrion took a deep breath and thanked the gods that he played the right card. "If you won't go back out, help me plan another way."

They heard a battering ram slam into the gate.

"What do you have in mind?" Sandor asked roughly.

"Your Grace," Lancel cried. He was holding his side like he had been wounded. "The queen has sent me to bring you back to the Red Keep."

Neither Tyrion nor Sandor could believe what Cersei was asking the king – the leader of the army sent to protect the city – to do.

"If you won't defend your own city, why should they?" Tyrion challenged.

Joffrey looked torn. "What would you have me do?"

For the first time since he was born, Tyrion felt like an uncle. His nephew was lost, confused. Instead of being a total coward, he was reaching out for help. "Lead," Tyrion urged. "Get down there and lead your people against the invaders who want to kill them."

"What did my mother say exactly? Did she have urgent business with me?" Joffrey asked.

Tyrion knew it was false hope that Joffrey would step up. Even Lancel looked slightly disgusted at the king's cowardice. "She did not say, Your Grace."

Joffrey still looked lost. "Ser Boros, Ser Meryn, stay with my uncle and represent the king on the field of battle."

Tyrion heard the men's disapproval and their moral sinking as Joffrey left. Who could blame them? Their king had embraced his cowardice and left his men to do the fighting on their own. The rest of the men were starting to waver as they gathered around the stairs where their leader should be. Tyrion glanced down and saw his faithful squire, Podrik, running back to him. The boy had such loyalty in his eyes that it sent a wave of courage through Tyrion. "I'll do the attack," he said quietly.

"What?" Sandor scoffed.

"I'll lead the attack!" Tyrion shouted. The men stopped their mumblings and listened. "Pod, my helmet."

Sandor saw the men start to shake their heads and leave. But Tyrion was determined. His speech was captivating and stirred everyone to hope that they might survive this night. But Sandor wasn't interested in speeches. His one and only concern was making sure none of the fuckers outside the gates touched his little bird. He would kill them all to ensure that she was safe. He caught Tyrion's eye and smirked.

"There are brave men knocking on our door. Let's go kill them!"

Sandor chuckled slightly at the little lord before joining him to cut behind the Baratheon army.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa heard Lancel come back in.

"The battle is lost, Your Grace. Stannis' troops are at the gates. When the goldcloaks saw the king leaving, they lost all heart." The repulsion of what Joffrey did was apparent in the man-child's voice.

"Where is my son?" the queen asked.

Sansa was appalled at how cowardly and selfish Cersei was being. It shamed her to know that this woman was basically running the kingdom.

"I want to escort him back to the battle," Lancel demanded in a soft way.

But Cersei had no pity for softness. "Why do I care what you want?"

"Now listen to me," Lancel commanded. But the queen punched her own cousin in his wound before fleeing from her guests.

Sansa felt sympathy for the poor man writhing in pain on the floor. He only wanted to do the right thing. The women were being to panic. "Don't be afraid," she called out. "The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place we can be. Joffrey's not hurt, he's fighting bravely." She wasn't sure how she managed to lie that well, but she did it. She knew Sandor would be so proud if he heard her now. "His knights are running behind him. They will save the city." That seemed to ease the tension slightly. "Shall we sing a hymn?"

The women joined in while she started in on the first verse.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Hound was impressed with Tyrion's leadership. They had taken the Baratheon men by surprise and overturned their battering ram. There was still fire everywhere, but Sandor refused to get distracted by it while he channeled his fear into his sword.

When the men started cheering "Half-man", Sandor opted out. He wasn't the cheering kind. He did however give a slight nod to the man. But then he saw Tyrion's face fall.

A whole other wave of Baratheon troops pounced on the small Lannister force. Several men were caught off guard, the Hound included. A man was able to cut him just above the shoulder where there was a weak point in his armor. Sandor thrust his sword into the man's face and pulled it back before swinging it another man. Once he killed three more, he scanned the shoreline for Tyrion. He found him but not before he saw one of the kings guards strike a blow. Tyrion peddled backward, dumbfounded at what just happened. Sandor tried to get to the little man, but his squire got there first. He saw the boy plunge a spear through the back of the guard's head. Podrick swung the broken lance at Sandor but he caught it with his hand. The boy had a look of utter fear on his face when he saw who was holding it. Sandor simply tossed it away and Pod went to hold his master.

"Tyrion?" Sandor called. "Can you hear me?" The Lannister looked ghostly as blood started to drip from his face and nose.

"My lord," Podrick said. "Look."

All three men saw a horde of men on horseback. "Fuck me," Sandor said.

"Wait," Podrick called out. "Look at the banner!"

The red and gold armor of more Lannister men came through the fog. They started cutting down the rest of Stannis' army as Tyrion passed out. A large white horse galloped through and Sandor saw that it was Tywin along with some of the Tyrell men.

"The battle is won!" Tywin bellowed. A loud cacophony rose as the last Baratheon man on the shore fell and Stannis was being dragged back to his ships.

Sandor clasped Podrick on the shoulder and in a rare moment of kindness said, "Good job, boy."

Podrick smiled tightly as he helped Tyrion into the Hound's arms. Sandor walked as quickly as he could through the gates. Several physicians came to the scene as Sandor gently laid his cargo down. They escorted everyone out of the room. Now that the battle was won, everyone was in complete chaos. Podrick refused to leave Tyrion's side so Sandor went back out to the gates where the survivors were hollering for joy and the rest were making sure the enemy was dead.

No one was sure what to do now that they weren't busy trying to kill. They all scattered to their own dwellings or a brothel or to their women that they fought so hard to keep safe. Tywin marched straight through the crowd and into the gate, presumably to tell Cersei and the women that they had won.

"Sansa," Sandor muttered. He raced where he could, careful to avoid Tywin's troops who would no doubt stop to ask him questions. He knew the women were in the Holdfast but he had to wait until Tywin came back out to go in. But the patriarch looked angry as he went in and promptly came back out. Undeterred, Sandor marched through the hall until he stopped, seeing Shae waiting in an isolated corner. He whistled and her black hair parted when she turned around.

Shae ran to where the Hound was standing. Blood covered his armor and sweat was dripping from his forehead. "We've won?"

He nodded curtly. "Where is she?"

Shae smiled brightly. "I sent her to her room. I was afraid Ser Ilyn would kill her if he had the chance."

Sandor turned on his heel but Shae caught him. "What about Tyrion?"

"He's alive." It was the truth. Last time, he saw the little man he was breathing. He didn't say anything else as he covered as much ground as possible. He had to see her.

Xxxxxxxxx

Sansa stared out from her balcony. Shae had made sure she got out of the Holdfast shortly after the queen. She was grateful for it too since the executioner wouldn't hesitate to take her head on behalf of a dying request from a Lannister.

She could see the men still whooping and hollering from pure happiness. They had won. But there was no sign of Sandor anywhere. She gazed intently at the areas she could see. She saw Bronn but no one else she recognized. "Please let him be alive," she prayed.

Suddenly her door burst open and she heard the familiar shuffling of armor. She was almost afraid to turn for fear that it would be a trick of the mind.

"Sansa," his gravely voice called out.

Without warning, Sansa flung herself onto him with every ounce of strength. She held on tight with her arms wrapped around his neck secure in the feeling of his arms around her. She didn't care about the blood, the stench of sweat, or the fact that her face was resting against his burnt side. "You're alive," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

"Yes, little bird, I'm alive." He felt her lips on his twisted skin. She was kissing him repeatedly, covering a different spot every time.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm so sorry for every mean thing I said. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it. I'm so sorry."

Sandor let out a grin at her apology that was punctuated with kisses. "I'm sorry too." Gods, that left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could smell the lavender in her hair and it made him happier than he had ever been in his life. He buried his face into her neck, absorbing her lovely frangrance. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life."

Sansa laughed lightly and squeezed his neck. She brought her lips to his skin again. "I'm so glad you're alive. I thought I would never see you again."

He set her back down on the stone floor and saw that she was crying. He gently put his thumb to her cheek and wiped it away. "No tears, little bird. I'm not going anywhere."

"They're happy tears," she smiled. She grasped his hand and brought her lips to it. It was so rough against her smooth lips. "I love you."

He stepped back at her proclamation. His cold heart that he was sure would never beat again jumped at those three words. He brought her face to his in a searing kiss. It took his breath away having this flawless creature in his arms. Looking at her now, so mature and womanly, it brought back vivid memories of how he felt every moment of every day. Tyrion was right: he was completely in love with Sansa Stark.

"Are you sure?" He smiled at her giggle before she kissed him again.

"I love you more than anything, Sandor Clegane."

Hearing his name come from her lips was a song he didn't even know he had been dying to hear. "I love you too, little bird." It felt strange to say that. But the feeling was forgotten as she brought his face close again.

Their moment was brief since his absence was required. He was still the king's sworn shield after all. But things had changed indefinitely and neither of them would have changed that for the world.

**A/N2:** I hope y'all like the AU!


	10. Mine

**A/N**: So there's another note at the end of this because 1) it explains things better as to why I wrote the chapter the way I did and it wouldn't make much sense to say at the beginning; and 2) I just want you to read the dang chapter already. Go ahead. Read. And then review. Because that's what people with souls do.

Chapter 10: Mine

Sansa watched from her place above the throne as Tywin Lannister and the Tyrell army piled into the throne room. Today was the day Joffrey was to give out the rewards for the battle. From here, she had a clear view of the event and more specifically, the man she loved. He hadn't looked at her the whole time, but she didn't expect him to. She had the advantage in this instance since Sandor was directly beside Joffrey so if she gazed that way, anyone would think she was looking at her betrothed.

They didn't get much time last night to themselves since Joffrey had things to attend to immediately after the arrival of his grandfather and new allies. Despite his defiance, Sandor was still fondly thought of by the king. It both irked and amazed him. But they also knew this newfound revelation of their feelings would make things much trickier. They had agreed that only Shae would be let in since she pretty much knew everything already and they needed someone who could cast doubt should suspicions arise. Of course Sandor knew that Shae had her own secret but both he and the handmaid decided not to let Sansa in on it should she be questioned.

Sandor could hardly believe he was standing here listening to Joffrey hand out rewards to people who had done approximately two and a half seconds of fighting. There wasn't even a mention of Tyrion and the imp was the one who saved the fucking city in the first place! A woman caught his eyes in the front line. She was wearing a low cut gown that was obviously meant to showcase her cleavage.

He wasn't impressed. Sansa's was perkier, ivory, and just all around beautiful – as far as he could tell anyway. But he quirked an eyebrow as she sent him a flirty look. He noted the feature he liked least were her lips. They were squished together as though she were trying to be innocent. 'What a hag,' Sandor thought. He let his eyes shift slightly to his right where he saw the only person that he did like. Now there was a beauty.

Joffrey awarded Littlefinger Harrenhal, which Sandor thought fitting considering it was a place of ruin. But then Loras Tyrell was called up. Remembering how Sansa had fawned over him, the Hound sent a glare to the pretty boy.

"My sister is innocent," declared the pretty one.

Sandor had to repress a snort. One look at that woman and he knew there was nothing innocent about her. As the boy droned on about uniting their houses, it became clear what the Tyrells wanted: Margaery to wed Joffrey. He glanced over to the king and saw that Joffrey was already in lust with the woman but was trying hard to hold on to his favorite toy – Sansa.

"Is this what you want, Lady Margaery?" Joffrey asked.

"With all my heart, Your Grace. I have come to love you from afar. Tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears; and those tales have taken root deep inside of me."

Sansa repressed an urge to smile while Sandor was trying not to vomit. Out of the most ridiculous things in that statement, he loathed the implication that Joffrey was brave. Half his men that were buried in the cold ground would bear witness to his cowardice.

"I too have heard tales of your beauty and grace," Joffrey replied. "Tales do not do you justice my lady. It would be an honor to return your love. But I am promised to another. A king must keep his word."

For the first time since she came to King's Landing (and her life), Sansa prayed that someone would hate her enough to try and fight his claim. She was shocked to hear Cersei of all people pushing for Joffrey to end the engagement. Sansa tried to look devastated at the news as the court took turns staring at her. But it was clear what the queen was saying wasn't what the council actually wanted. Finally, after reassurance from Pycelle, Sansa heard Joffrey say that their engagement was invalid and he was to wed the Tyrell girl.

She was so happy she wanted to cry. Her replacement gave her a glance that held both triumph and sympathy; but Sansa wasn't interested in the latter. She would have gladly given her blessing had she been asked for it. If Margaery Tyrell wanted to be wed to a cowardly monster lion man that was her choice. Feeling a burst of joy come over her, Sansa turned and started walking away. She thanked the gods for their infinite mercy and let a huge smile grace her lips. A deep sigh of relief came from deep inside her bones as she continued on her way. She would celebrate later with Sandor. Right now, she wanted to a moment to relish in the happiness of being free.

"My lady," Petyr Baelish called out. Sansa quickly hid her delight behind a pitiful pout. "My sincerest condolences."

"They're right; I'm not good enough for him," she said quietly. She saw him take another step closer. He was getting too close for comfort.

"You shouldn't say that. You'll be good enough for many things. He'll still enjoy beating you; and now that you're a woman, he'll be able to enjoy in other ways as well."

'Oh gods,' Sansa thought. The thought of it turned her stomach. "But if he's not marrying me-"

"He'll let you go home?" Petyr scoffed with sympathy as he realized that Sansa didn't fully comprehend the situation. "Joffrey's not the sort of boy who gives away his toys." He placed a gentle hand on her arm. "You have a tender heart – just like your mother did at your age. I see so much of her in you. She was like a sister to me. For her sake, I'll help get you home."

Sansa had grown increasingly uncomfortable with Littlefinger. There was something about him that wasn't right. "King's Landing is my home now."

Petyr let out a small snicker. "Look around you. We're all liars here. And every one of us is better than you." When she didn't say anything he added, "Despite your reservations about Dontos, I can get you out."

"Thank you, my lord. I shall think over your offer," Sansa said politely. He gave a small nod and returned to the floor. She felt physically sick at what just happened. She watched Littlefinger walk around talking as though he owned the place. He caught her eye and for a moment, there was a hint of empathy in them. A large figure moved at the edge of her vision and she saw that it was the Hound.

Sandor could Sansa going pale. He wondered just what the fuck Littlefinger said to make her like that. He saw how relieved she was to be free of the king not a minute ago, but now that was gone.

"Dog," Joffrey called. Sandor quickly returned to the king's side. "Meryn, see to it that my beloved has the best room. Hound, come with me." They walked back around the throne and down into the chambers where Joffrey had gotten dressed the night before. "Boros, grab some blood and smear it on my breastplate." The king wound his way up the stairs until he reached his inner chambers. He sat on a long-chair while a servant poured him some wine. After some minutes, he gestured to the Hound. "What do you think of my new lady?"

"She's very pretty, Your Grace."

"She is, isn't she?" he smiled wickedly. "Her body is far more luscious than Sansa's, don't you agree?"

"I wouldn't know Your Grace." That was the gods' honest truth.

"Still," Joffrey continued. "I would not have Sansa leaving the Keep. I want her around should Lady Margaery prove to be a disappointment."

Sandor glared at the prick's head. It would look so much better mounted on a spike. "As you wish, Your Grace."

"Is Sansa still on her moon blood?"

"I wouldn't know, Your Grace."

Joffrey huffed impatiently. "That girl is going to drive me mad. She is so close but I can't have her – not yet anyway. Mother says I must wait until I make my commitment official to the Tyrells and then I can do whatever I want to the Stark girl. Do you think she's tight?"

Thinking about how tight Sansa might be was stirring some dangerous emotions inside Sandor. "I couldn't say, Your Grace."

"I bet she is. She's wound so tight that were she a bow, one pluck would snap her. I'll find out soon enough. Till then, make sure to keep interested parties away. She may be free of our nuptials, but she is still mine in any other way I choose."

"Yes Your Grace."

Joffrey picked up his crossbow and stared at it a while. "Dog, bring me some whores. I'm bored."

Sandor did as commanded. He had several of Littlefinger's whores trailing behind him when he reentered the castle. To make sure none of the Tyrells saw, he snuck them the back way through the darker hallways. "Good luck," he warned.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa flew on her bed. She missed Shae today but after being interrogated by the queen, Sansa thought the handmaid deserved the day off. The memory of the night rang fresh in her mind and it made her wonder about the brunette. Cersei did have some interesting points during that conversation. She twirled around on her stomach and hugged a pillow to her while she stared out.

Gods she missed Sandor! That kiss had rattled her frame from the pure fire that emerged when their lips touched. Her heart still fluttered as she remembered how he had said those three little words back. It was still hard to believe. It was also hard to believe that she said it first! A lady never did that! But she honestly thought she would never see him again. There were so many Baratheon troops on that shore. Hearing his voice, seeing his face (all of it!), and smelling him had overpowered her manners as he squeezed her tight. She could barely breathe but whether it was from the shock of seeing him alive or the intensity of his strength around her was an answer she didn't know, nor did she care. The point was that he was here and he was alive and he loved her. She never thought it was possible that they would get to that moment.

But they did. She bit her lip to stop herself from squealing in delight at the thought. Yesterday had been torment for her and today was the complete opposite. Littlefinger's words still bothered her, but she could dwell on that later. For now, she wanted to revel in happiness. An overwhelming urge to jump was rising and this time, Sansa fully embraced it. She quickly stood on her bed and started jumping around like she was a child. As her body went up and down, she felt the air move her hair around her face and beneath her arms.

"Little bird wants to fly," Sandor said from the doorway.

Sansa collapsed on her bed when she heard his voice. She didn't want him to mock her for acting childish. "Every bird wants freedom."

Sandor kicked the door shut with his foot. He let his eyes roam over her body, unabashed at letting her see him staring. She was glowing with joy and her chest was heaving as she tried to catch her breath. "Do you want to leave?"

He moved to sit so she scooted to her left to accommodate him and sat on her knees. "I don't know. I thought I did."

"But?"

"But things have changed."

"Not that much."

"We...said...words. Words that mattered." When he didn't make any gestures, her stomach fell to her feet. "At least to me."

Sandor narrowed his gray eyes at her. "They mattered to me too, little bird. I don't go around saying those things to just anyone."

Sansa blushed slightly. His lips were right _there_. All she had to do was reach down and she would touch them. Kissing was definitely her favorite thing to do with him. She wondered if he felt the same. Her mouth opened, but right when she was about to ask, she closed it. He would think her silly and she certainly didn't want to give the impression that she felt like a princess swooning over her prince charming all the time, despite that being the exact feeling she had.

"What?" he asked roughly.

She shook her head slightly. "Nothing."

It bugged Sandor that she didn't want to say what was on her mind. "You were going to say something. What was it?"

"I- I –I was just thinking how you feel about still guarding Joffrey."

"Still not a good liar," he snorted.

"Yes, that's what Lord Baelish said earlier," she muttered.

He snapped to attention. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing much."

"Sansa," he huffed impatiently.

"He said that Joffrey won't let me go home and that he can still have his way with me."

"I won't let him," Sandor replied fiercely. He brought his hands to her face, making her look him in the eyes. "You are mine now."

Sansa's stomach flipped at his words. Her smile was back. "Do you have duty tonight?"

"Not until later," he smirked back.

Sansa reached the distance between them. Being around him emboldened her in ways she never thought possible. "Good."

He wanted to touch her so bad. It almost felt like a dream he was having with her pulling him down on the bed. She wasn't ready for as much as she thought she was, but he was going to be damned if his newfound morals made him skip this opportunity.

His tongue ran along her bottom lip and she opened her mouth, granting him access. Going slow, he began to encourage her to open up and embrace her instincts. It didn't take her very long as he knew it wouldn't.

It felt surreal to Sansa that anything in the world could be so natural. She wasn't sure how to do anything so she let him lead. The more she let him in, the more blissful she became. A year ago if someone had told her that the Hound of all people was going to be roaming his hands up and down her body and sucking on her lip, she would have laughed and said only handsome princes were allowed to do that. Grabbing his head with both her hands, she pulled him up so that she could really take him in. She wasn't frightened by the ghastly scars anymore. They were what made him become the person he was. _'__If you really like him_, _his looks won't matter.'_ Sansa smiled to herself. Looked like Shae was right after all.

"Are you okay?" Sandor asked, breathless. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No!" she said a little too quickly. Her reaction brought a rough smile across his lips. It boggled her senses how one man with such a gruesome reputation could be so gentle when he chose to be. He was by no means handsome, but he was a better man than any man she'd come across in King's Landing. His glistening lips made her smile as she brought him in for another deep kiss. It was as though he were a drink she didn't even know she craved.

Sandor could see she was thinking something. At first he was slightly worried that she was coming to her sense and telling him that she wasn't interested anymore. But then he saw that unmistakable glint of lust in her eyes before she let him kiss her again.

His hand traveled down her side till it reached the hem of her dress. A tiny breath hitched in her throat as her dressed moved along with his hand. It didn't stop him as he moved closer to her thigh. Sansa moved her legs so that he could settle between them. It scared her how natural her body reacted to his touch on her skin. She was growing hotter with the movement of his lips against hers. Soon, her own hands began to explore his body. Carefully, she placed them on his outer arms and let them move down his chest before bringing them up again. She let them roam on their own accord. Inside his tunic they went, exploring every muscle and caressing every scar under her fingertips. Around his back they slid until they reached the top of his breeches and then they brought themselves back up. Sansa realized then that she may be the more beautiful one in their relationship, but he was definitely the sexiest. She didn't think bodies like his existed outside of fairytales: so much muscle forged from years of hard service and battles. She wondered how many women had seen him like this.

When he moved his lips down to her neck, she took that as her opportunity. "Sandor?"

"Hm?"

"How many women have you been with?"

She asked it innocently enough, but that didn't make it any better sounding. Sandor stopped kissing her neck and sighed. "You want to talk about this now?"

"It's just a question."

Pulling himself away he rolled on to his back and stared at her. She propped herself up on an elbow and stared right back. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm curious."

"I can't remember," he said truthfully.

"Why not?"

There was that frustrating naivety again. "Because I didn't count them."

Finally, understanding hit her. Sansa's eyebrows rose at his declaration. "That many?"

"Unfortunately."

Her hand snaked across his chest as she admired the sliver skin that rose underneath. She felt intense jealousy against those other women. "Did they...see you without your armor?"

"Most of them saw me naked, yes."

More jealousy. Her hand roamed even broader around his torso. She didn't like that thought all. Sandor was hers. "Why?"

"That's usually what happens when two people have sex," he snorted.

"Oh," she blushed.

"What's this?" he mused. "Is my little bird jealous?"

"Yes," Sansa replied flatly. He wasn't the only one who could be blunt.

As she pouted, Sandor let out a bark of laughter. "You needn't be. I don't remember anything about them."

"That's comforting I suppose. Do you think you'll remember me?"

"I'll always remember you. I love you."

Sansa's face lit up with joy. She lifted herself from her position and sat back on her knees so she could look at him. "It isn't fair."

"What?"

"Well, you know I'm jealous of them. Are you ever jealous?"

"All the fucking time."

"Really?"

"Really. It's not easy acting like I'm not interested."

"I know what you mean. Every time someone asks me about Joffrey, I have to think of you in order to make it sound plausible."

Sandor was extremely elated to hear her say that, though he never showed it. "Speaking of, do you remember when Joffrey showed you where you two were going to live?"

How could she forget? "Yes."

"When he brought up the subject of children, you looked right at me. Why?"

"Because I meant what I said and it's polite to look at people when you talk to them."

Nothing would give Sandor more pleasure than to be with Sansa in every way, but children? Those were not his forte. Children ran from him. "I'm not the fatherly type," he warned.

"Have you ever had one?"

"No."

"Then how can you say that you won't be any good at it? And before you accuse me of putting words in your mouth, I know that's what you were implying."

"Trust me; the men that come from my line are not the kind that should be reproducing. Besides, I'm not a lord nor do I want to be. But you, you're a Stark of Winterfell. You're from a line thousands of years in the making and the North would never support a child who is from such a despicable line as the Cleganes. What is a dog compared to a wolf?"

"It's a good thing those three dogs on your sigil didn't think that when they went after that lion," she retorted.

"Those were the ones that died."

"That's not the point. You're so concerned about the North and what they'll think but they're loyal enough to support whoever I marry – unless it's a Lannister. And you talk as if I'm going to be Queen of the North when I'm not. Winterfell is Robb's and after he defeats the Lannisters, he's going to kill Theon for taking it."

He smiled at the ruthlessness in her tone. "You can be quite the wolf when you want to be."

A small, but prideful blush colored her cheeks. "Well, it's true."

"You should be queen."

"Of what?"

"Westeros."

Sansa laughed lightly. "Now there's a fantasy that I have no problem letting go of. I could never be queen."

"I could see it though. You on the Iron Throne, beloved by your people."

"How on earth do you know that I would be beloved?"

"Because you already are. Why do you think the queen kept the marriage arrangement between you and Joffrey?"

"But my family is considered to be traitors."

"No one believes that," Sandor scoffed.

"They believed it when Joffrey ordered his head," she snapped.

Sandor closed his mouth at her ferocious reply. He could see it in her eyes that that topic would always be off limits for a variety of reasons. For his sake, he hoped that she would never find out exactly what happened in the throne that day. She might understand why he didn't interfere at the Sept of Baelor, but she would never forgive him if she found out that he had cut down her father's men – men that she had known all her life. If that day ever came, he had a feeling that she would embrace every aspect of the wolf inside, reducing him to nothing more than a rejected dog.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he said after a long silence. "Joffrey is the most hated king Westeros has ever had. I'm surprised no one's tried to kill him yet."

"How can someone be so cruel?"

"He's the result of incest. What do you expect?"

"But Myrcella isn't like that and neither is Tommen."

"Have you ever heard the saying about the Targaryens? Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. Some come out mad, the others come out normal."

"But that's from generations of marrying brothers and sisters."

"The point still stands."

"Well, whatever it was, I'm glad I don't have to marry it." Sandor gave a tiny smirk before a soft knock on Sansa's door interrupted them. Sandor quickly jumped into the adjoining room while Sansa straightened herself. "Enter," she called out.

A maid Sansa didn't know opened the door and curtsied. "Beg pardon, milady, but the Lady Margaery would like to see you."

Sansa was more than a little surprised. But she was a lady and refusing to answer Margaery's call would just downright rude. The maid stood watch as Sansa readied herself. It was almost unbearable for her since Sandor was behind one of the doors in his tunic and if Joffrey were to find out, it would send him into a fit of rage and since she had just broken free of him this morning, that would be taking a major leap backward. So with no other alternative, Sansa managed to put on her manners and left without saying goodbye.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor hated this arrangement already and they hadn't even been together a whole fucking day. This was going to be tricky. Between his duties and hers, he doubted that there would be time to get their clothes off before she was summoned to do something and he was commanded to babysit the king. Why did they think this was going to work in the first place? It was a stupid, romantic notion that they could carry on. Eventually, someone would notice and then they'd be in a shitload of trouble.

He heard the door close and decided to wait a few minutes before leaving. He had a certain itch that was begging to be scratched ever since his lips came into contact with Sansa's. But he didn't want to frighten his little bird and then the topic of her father somehow came up and that pretty much made him go limp instantly. But he had never seen her snap like that, not even at Joffrey. He made a mental note to never bring up anything of that sort again. Sansa had her own anger to deal with at what life had thrown at her and he had a feeling that she could cause more damage to someone with those pretty words than he could with a thousand swords. And you know what? He liked that about her – as long as he wasn't on the receiving end.

**A/N2**: Just so I don't get any PM's and/or reviews about the lack of sex so far, I want to explain my reason for taking this route (which was extremely tough to do btw). I always read fanfics that have these two going at it like crazy and while those are fun to read, I never could imagine them just jumping into that part of their relationship that fast. Even if you only watch the show, Sansa is not like that and to a certain extent, neither is Sandor. I could do a time jump, but I really want to explore the early days of their relationship as it happens in King's Landing and how different their approaches to love and sex are and how Sandor learns to separate those two while Sansa learns how to combine them.

Now you can write that review:)


	11. The Green Boy

**A/N:** Okay, so I'm trying really hard not to get into spoilers here because I know not everyone has reads the books or even wants to (though I highly recommend it. A Clash of Kings is amazing). But since the Reeds are cast for the 3rd season, it's not really spoilerish...is it? Anyway, Sansa is slightly...not her ladylike self in this chapter. I kept picturing her in the episode of Blackwater where she looks so mature for her age and gives that little smartass answer to Joffrey.

Chapter 11: The Green Boy

_Sansa was watching from the window in her room at Winterfell. She wasn't sure how she got here, but she did. A chill came over her body sending her skin into a coat of bumps. Someone was in the room with her. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't turn her body around. _

"_No, you mustn't," a voice said. A boy's voice. But it wasn't anyone she recognized._

"_What do you mean?" Sansa breathed._

"_You must not come back."_

"_But this is my home." Finally she was able to move. When she did, she came to face a boy about Bran's age but rather than a childlike expression, this boy was as serious as her father had been._

"_It is no longer. The Starks have left the Wall open. Winterfell will be destroyed."_

"_How can that be? Winterfell has stood for thousands of years."_

"_Everything has its time. Heed the warning, Sansa. For the sake of the realm, you must heed the warning."_

"_What warning?"_

"_Winter is coming."_

With a breath of cold air, Sansa sat straight in her bed. Her body was sweating but she felt as though someone had poured a pail of cold water on her. The boy in the dream scared her. Even now she could see his green eyes and the somber expression his young face held.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa watched Tyrion Lannister walk the length of the Great Hall. Apparently, Cersei had become indisposed of this particular morning as was Lord Tywin so it was left up to the imp to sort out the king's business. Tyrion threw her a look that held pity in it. She vaguely wondered what he was thinking of in that moment to make him look at her with such sad eyes. Before she could waste another thought, the day's business had begun.

For the most part, Sansa tuned out everything until Cleos Frey came into view. Curious, Sansa straightened her posture and leaned more into the railing. Tyrion was discussing the Lannister's refusal of Robb's terms (no surprise there) and instead was giving the Frey boy their outrageous terms (again, no surprise there).

"And what of his sisters?" Cleos Frey asked the imp.

Sansa could feel every single pair of eyes watching her, including Sandor's despite him being half hidden by the spiked throne. A tiny breath refused to leave her lungs as she heard the reply.

"Until such time as he frees my brother Jaime, unharmed, they shall remain here as hostages. How well they are treated depends on him."

"Gods, Jaime must be maimed beyond recognition then," Sansa thought. She grew furious when the man had the gall to glance back up at her with that sad look. She wasn't sure how hard she was fighting to maintain control, but when she felt something cool slide down her fingers she saw that she had been digging her nails into her palms the entire time Tyrion had talked. Ignoring the pain and quickly wiping away the blood, another man caught her eye. He was clearly of the Night's Watch going by his hard expression and black dress.

Ser Alliser Thorne and Tyrion were going at each other's throats in the most courteous way possible as talk turned to white walkers. The thought them sent an involuntary shudder through Sansa. Even though the others in the room were snickering and laughing at the idea of the dead walking, Sansa knew there was some truth in the words. And going by Tyrion's face, he did too. The two shared another quick glimpse – so quick that no one even noticed – but it spoke volumes. None of these people had been to the North much less the Wall. But Sansa and Tyrion had. They knew something awful was coming whether folks wanted to acknowledge it or not. Southroners had their stubborn and narrowminded ways of thinking: if they haven't seen it, it isn't true. But Winterfell and its Northern borders still had some of the old magic and it seemed this particular winter was going to be especially eventful.

At first Sansa thought Tyrion hadn't experienced or seen anything at the Wall but now that the crow was talking, she could see it plain as day on the imp's face. It was a look that only someone who had lived in the North could see.

"They were dead the first time," Ser Alliser snapped. "I brought Jared's hand, torn from his corpse by the bastard's wolf."

Sansa stood attention. "Jon!" She screamed at herself. A painful wave of regret spread through her at the thought of her half brother. Her sweet, loving half brother who wanted nothing more than to love and be loved in return. But in her empty head, Sansa only considered him nothing more than half of a brother simply because his mother wasn't hers. That's when it struck her.

Tyrion dismissed the council and people filtered out of the Great Hall. But Sansa lingered behind, noticing a heated discussion between Alliser and Tyrion.

"The cold winds are rising," Ser Alliser warned. "The Wall _must_ be held."

Tyrion knew that for a certain. "And to hold it you need men, which I've given you...as you might have noted, if your ears heard anything but insults. Take them, thank me, and begone before I'm forced to take a crab fork to you again. Give my warm regards to Lord Mormont...and to Jon Snow as well."

When Tyrion turned, he stopped short at the sight of Sansa Stark. He bowed his head slightly and she returned it blandly. "My lady Sansa."

"Lord Tyrion," she bit. "Might I have a word with the Watchman? I seek information about my Uncle Benjen."

"Of course, my lady. Bronn! Hold still a moment longer. Lady Stark wishes to speak with the crow. I truly hope he has good news, Lady Sansa."

"I'm sure," she smiled politely. Sansa swept past the guards and small council members and even Sandor to rush to the crow's side. He looked as mean up close as he did far away. Sansa pitied him. Bronn hesitated to leave the man's side. "I seriously doubt that Ser Alliser wishes to kill me, Bronn. And in the throne room no less."

"You're a Stark, girl?" the rough man rasped. His voice echoed off the walls, calling attention to them both.

"I am."

"I know a Stark on the wall - Benjen."

"He is my uncle. How does he fare?"

"Don't know." There seemed to be a shade of sadness in the man's voice. "Benjen's been missin' for months now. The Old Bear took that bastard boy-"

"Jon," Sansa corrected sharply. "His name is Jon."

"Jon," the man spat. "They took to the Forest in search of him. Don't think we'll ever see any of 'em again." He suddenly remembered who he was talking to. "Beggin' a thousand pardons, my lady. The Starks have always been a friend to the Watch."

Sansa was acutely aware that the remaining people in the Great Hall, including Tyrion and Sandor, were scrutinizing their every word. "And with the gods' blessings, may they ever be. What news of the Wall and Winterfell?"

"What are your house words?"

"Winter is Coming."

He lowered his voice to a near whisper but still loud enough to hear if one strained. "The old powers are risen, child; should the Wall fall, no one but the Starks could hold back this winter's chill. You're a child of the north, girl. The winter season is in your bones. Heed their warnings. You feel the coming storm just as much in this place as your uncle did on the Wall." He returned to his arrowed posture and sent his voice booming. "The Starks are always right eventually. But winter isn't coming. It already has."

Sansa's wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. She couldn't deny his words though. Indeed she had been feeling as though something were amiss, she just didn't know what. "Should you have any way of reaching my uncle or my brother, Jon, I would ask that you let them know that I am being treated fairly and miss them terribly." She tried to emanate everything she wanted to say through her eyes, but the man just stared blankly at her. Finally, she leaned into him and brought him into a hug. "Send a raven to my brother, Robb and tell them that Arya is not here and the Tyrells have joined the lions."

Her whisper was so soft that it was barely audible but when they parted, she could see he understood.

"Only the gods can know for certain if Benjen's alive but if he is, I'll let him know. It's a sad thing to hear, my lady. And know that the Starks are always welcome at the Wall."

His suggestion did not go unheard. Sansa smiled courteously and watched the man get escorted from the room. Rather than head back, she stayed for a minute to gather herself. She didn't really want to turn around. If she did, that would mean having to go back and be a sullen girl whose family are traitors. And she was so tired of that role. She'd been playing it for months now and wasn't sure if she could do it anymore.

"I hope the crow had good news," Tyrion said behind her.

Sansa closed her eyes and put her armor back on. Turning, she faced him and smiled. "You heard him as well as me, my lord. Did any of that sound good?"

The men's faces at her sharp reply made her stifle a giggle.

"No news then of your uncle?" Tyrion replied.

"None."

"I am truly sorry, Lady Sansa."

"As am I, Lord Tyrion. Should he come back to the Wall human, he will have nothing but cold tidings to greet his return."

Tyrion tried not to wince at her icy tone. It was so unlike Sansa and he wasn't sure if it suited her or not. "Human, my lady?"

"You heard what he said about the white walker."

"A fabled tale," Tyrion said. He tried to chuckle but standing before a child of the winter who grew up with such magic, the laughter had died before it reached his lips. For some reason, Sansa's presence was making him feel far more foolish than he had ever felt. It was beginning to chafe his confidence.

"If you say so, my lord." Sansa cast an eyebrow upward and let a knowing smirk cross her lips. She spared a glance at the rest of the men, letting a sliver of lust come through when she met Sandor's eyes.

_His_ eyes gave nothing away. Sansa wondered how he did that and if he could teach her. His mouth twitched though as she walked past them. She knew that smile, even if others thought it was nothing more than burnt muscles twitching involuntarily.

"What in the name of the Bloody Mummers was that about?" Bronn asked as they watched Sansa walk out.

"I think Cersei's little dove has grown some talons," Tyrion smiled.

"What do you make of her conversation with the crow?" Littlefinger prompted.

"Alliser? Nothing. She merely inquired about her uncle and brother."

"Do you truly believe that, my lord?" Varys asked, doubtful.

"What do you think?"

"I think we just saw Sansa Stark stoke the fire of a mad man." Littlefinger sounded smug.

"How disappointing you prove to be sometimes, my Lord Baelish."

The subject of white walkers and Sansa's strange encounter with the crow had left a throbbing headache in their wake. Tyrion rubbed his temple gently. "Well, if there's nothing else I shall take my leave my lords. Hound, with me."

Tyrion let a good a good distance come between the court and him before he spoke. "Has Lady Stark been getting rest?"

Sandor raised an eyebrow at the question. "What?"

"You heard me."

"How the seven hells am I supposed to know how much rest she gets?"

"You are the one who watches her most, Clegane."

"That doesn't mean I keep a ledger about her sleeping habits. In case you didn't know, standing guard happens _outside_ the door."

"Surely, you must hear something. If not you then the other guards. Have they said anything? No, you wouldn't know that. You're not exactly someone others confide in."

Sandor was extremely proud of that. "Why do you want to know?"

"She was pale this morning. Did you notice?"

Of course he did. "Aye, she did."

"I want you to find out what she said to that crow. And make it fast."

"If I ask, she'll know something is going on."

"Then what do you usually talk about?"

"How much we hate your family mostly."

Tyrion couldn't fault her for that. He hated his family too except Jamie. "Please ask Lady Sansa to dine with me tonight. If she refuses, tell her I command it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At first Sandor was hesitant to knock. Earlier, something had passed between her and the crow as well as Tyrion. That worried him for all sorts of reasons. The old man wasn't her taste true enough, but judging on her preferences so far, he didn't throw that possibility out. She rarely hugged people, including him so when she flung her little body into the crow, it damn near blew everyone over. He tried to hide his confusion but couldn't manage it. At least he blended in with the rest of the councilmen and Bronn. They were all listening intently to her conversation but it wasn't like they had to strain. It was odd. All of it: her manner, the crow's response to her words, and her reaction after the man left. It was so...so... un-Sansa like.

But she hadn't so much spared him a glance when Tyrion was dealing with the crow. It was plain to see something was on her mind.

Carefully, he knocked.

"Come in."

He opened the door and tilted his head so he could get through. Sometimes he really hated his height. "Little bird, the imp wants you to dine with him tonight."

Her brow furrowed together. "Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"That's what I thought."

He took in her posture. She was tired. Restless. Maybe even annoyed. "What was that down there?"

"What was what?"

"Don't play stupid. You know what I mean."

"I'm not the one playing stupid. Why are you asking me if you heard the whole thing?"

"I heard something but I damn well guarantee you that no one understood it."

"Maybe that's what I wanted," she sighed irritably.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Besides being a captive inside enemy territory while my family is splintered apart and a giant hound keeps barking asinine questions about things that are none of his business because someone asked him too, nothing is wrong."

"Slow down," he grunted. "You know I don't understand half those words."

With a roll of her eyes, she walked to the balcony and rested her weight on it. "You know, Arya would climb her way out here. I wouldn't be surprised if she had. All those guards are blind."

"Thanks," he grumbled. But there was no apology from her. "Are you angry at something, Sansa? Because if you are, tell me so I don't stand here looking like a fool."

"I'm not angry." Her tone spoke truth.

"Then what is it?"

"I- I just didn't get enough sleep last night and I'm scared for Jon and Uncle Benjen."

"Is that what this is about? That old crow was trying to scare people."

Sansa shook her head violently as though she had suddenly ran out of patience with him. "You don't understand. No one understands."

"Understands what?"

Her Tully blue eyes bore into his soul. "That winter has come."

"Sansa," he sighed. "There are no such things as the Others. Next you'll be saying that there are dragons about."

"Don't talk to me as though I am a child," Sansa snapped. "I may not be a seasoned woman, but I am not some suckling babe. I have spent my whole life in the north, Sandor and as easily as wine settles in your veins so does the winter in mine. I can feel it deep inside rising like the tides off Blackwater Bay. Just because you can't see it doesn't make it a falsehood."

Sandor was taken back. Somehow Sansa could always make him speechless whenever she chose to. Words came as natural to her as a sword to his hand. Once he gained his tongue, Sandor strode over to her. "It's not your body I doubt, Sansa. I'm just wondering where all of this is coming from."

"It's coming from me," she said gently. "I'm sorry I'm being so rude."

"Don't be. Seeing you like that makes me want to do dirty things to you," he smirked. He thought she would blush but instead she just stared at him with an unfathomable expression. "Sansa? Are you okay?"

"Who does the lizard-lion sigil belong to?"

The question had caught him off guard. "Fuck if I know."

"Tyrion would know," she muttered. "Yes, I will definitely take my supper with him tonight."

"Should I be jealous?"

"Huh? Of course not."

"Well, some would say you have a penchant for the grotesque: Joff, Tyrion, the crow, me."

"You're not grotesque and I had to hug the crow."

"You _had_ to? Was there some law passed recently?"

"No. I needed his ear and some privacy."

"For what?"

"Sandor, honestly." She glanced up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Why are you so interested?"

"I saw you hug another man," he shrugged. "I was jealous."

"Curious for a man who has supposedly has no feelings."

"I know. But no matter how hard I try I can't get rid of them. It's the gods' way of cursing me."

Despite herself, Sansa let out a smile. He had taken a seat on the edge of her bed and she took a moment to admire him. He struck an impressive figure even when not doing anything but trying to relax. Even his burns were hardly noticeable to her now. It startled her to realize why she had been so terrified when she woke up: he hadn't been there. Feeling slightly guilty for behaving so unlady like, she decided to make it up to him. He had just taken a drink of her wine so Sansa grasped the cup and set it aside.

"Hey," he whined. "My veins need that." She pressed herself against him before settling on his lap. "Or not."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Her lips went straight for his, soaking in every flavor his kisses brought out. Gods the way he moved his lips it was if he were reading her thoughts. It was still strange to feel the butterflies in her stomach when they were like this or the ache in her chest when they were apart, but for the first time since coming to King's Landing, Sansa knew this strange relationship was the right thing for her.

"Don't move," he rasped. His hands were like iron clasps on her waist. "Just give me a minute." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Gregor, Cersei, that boy-girl Lancel, mutilated kittens."

"What?" Sansa snickered.

"It helps me calm down," he replied. His voice sounded as though two saws were going against each other. Sansa thought it was sexy.

"Why do you need to calm down?"

His eyes snapped open and he regarded her for a moment. "Gods, you're innocent."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Sometimes. Like now." Worried, Sansa tried to wriggle free but stopped when a guttural moan escaped. "I told you not to move."

"I don't want to make it worse."

"Then stop talking." He thought of Gregor fucking Cersei and went limp instantly. Still he kept his grip on Sansa to make sure his groin wouldn't pitch its tent again. "Okay," he said finally. "You can get up."

Sansa frowned at the way he moved. "Are you hurt?"

"Sort of. Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

"I wish you'd tell me so I won't do it again."

"What makes you think I don't want you to do it again?"

"Because it looks painful."

"It's a good kind of pain, Sansa," he chuckled. "Or at least it will be later." She still didn't understand. "Ask that handmaid of yours. I'm sure she'll tell you about it."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"I don't wanna scare you."

"You could never scare me."

He looked at her dubiously. "Everything scares you. I better go before all the fluttering women come around." He gave her one last smile before heading out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of the day consisted of doing things she always did: working on her needlework, reading, and taking an uneventful walk in the gardens. She hadn't seen Ser Dontos since she caught a glimpse of him at court but she was grateful for that. Too many things were already starting to cloud her head. The godswood was her last stop of the day though even she began to wonder why she continued to come. Her father's gods didn't seem to be listening to her prayers any more than her mother's had. But still she prayed just in case. Robb and her mother were the first in her thoughts then Bran and Rickon who had to deal with Theon and that terrible Ramsay Snow. Arya came last because Sansa prayed the hardest for her. She had been missing for many moons now but in her heart, Sansa knew her sister was alive.

When it was time for her to go back, Sansa found herself thinking of her moment with Sandor. She was incredibly confused as the maids did indeed flutter about the room. The incident went through her head dozens of times but she was certain that she hadn't done anything wrong.

"Milady," Shae called. "Your bath is ready."

Was it supper already? Sansa looked out to see that darkness had taken over the city. "It's dark so soon."

"The seasons are changing," the handmaid replied. "It does that when winter starts to appear."

Sansa dismissed everyone but Shae. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"If you've been sitting on a man's lap kissing and he tells you to stop moving around, is that normal?"

"I'm afraid most of the men I've sat on haven't restrained themselves on that end," Shae smiled. "But I think I know what you're hinting at. Did something happen?"

Sansa nodded bashfully. "Was it something I did? He didn't seem to mind but then he started saying these weird things and moaned really loud."

"I assure you, milady. You have done nothing wrong."

"So what happened then? Should I avoid sitting on his lap?"

"No," Shae laughed. "Do you remember what I told you about a man putting his member inside a woman?"

How could Sansa forget that? "Yes. You made me look in a mirror."

"Do you remember your dream about all those feelings?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's the same for a man. Once the kissing starts, his member starts twitching and aches for relief just like yours. But since you're a maiden and must remain so until you marry, he has no where to put his save for his hand."

"His hand?" Sansa scrunched her nose. Then she remembered the night she had touched herself and it finally gave her the final clue. "Oh."

"Oh," Shae agreed. "Do you understand now why he did that?"

"I think so. But now I feel guilty."

"What for?"

"He looked like he was in pain."

"You will be too one day. Just give yourself time to adjust to everything happening with your body."

"Is-" Sansa wasn't sure why she stopped. Maybe it was because she was afraid to hear the answer for this particular question.

"Yes, milady?"

"Is there some way I can help him? I don't want him in pain."

"You can either become ugly or..."

"Or what?"

"Or I could teach you a trick or two."

"What kind of tricks?"

"The kind that will make men worship you."

After a heartbeat, Sansa grinned. "I wouldn't mind being worshipped."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tyrion opened the door for Sansa Stark. She looked fetching in a deep green dress and her hair dressed in the northern way. She had slowly disentangled herself from Joffrey – and by extension, King's Landing.

"My lady," Tyrion bowed. "Please come in. What would you like?"

Sansa waved most of the courses away before settling on some duck. "I must say I was rather surprised to get your command."

"Command? Oh, the Hound. I'm not surprised he phrased it that way. It was more of an invitation."

Sansa shrugged slightly. "They're all the same to him. He just repeats the words." '_Huh. I guess he is a little bird himself in a way,'_ she thought.

"Yes, Clegane is charming like that."

They sat in compatible silence while they ate. By time the lemoncakes came, Sansa wasn't sure if she could stomach one.

"Thank you."

"For what?" He inclined his head as he spoke.

"Everything you've done to make me feel less like a prisoner. I can't tell you how much it means to me."

"I am sorry for things to have turned out this way." It wasn't often Tyrion apologized genuinely or even sympathized with people who weren't cripples, bastards, or broken things. But the more he got to know Sansa, the more aware he grew that perhaps Bran wasn't the only broken Stark.

"It was for the best, I think."

"You mean because Joffrey is a tyrant and a foolish boy," Tyrion put in.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sansa, it is okay to speak in here. The people who are listening in these walls don't report to Joffrey, or my sister for that matter."

"Who do they report to?"

"I don't think you really want to know that."

Maybe she didn't. "This may seem a queer question, my lord but whose sigil belongs to a lizard-lion? I find I do not remember."

"Lizard-lion? I believe that's a northern sigil that belongs to one of the lesser houses pledged to Winterfell. Why?" He knew exactly whose house that belonged to but he wouldn't tell her until he got some answers first.

She couldn't tell him about the dream. "I was thinking of Winterfell and remembered my father telling us a story about some family with that as their sigil."

Tyrion didn't believe her but she was starting to get better at lying. All she needed was a good teacher and she would be a natural. "I can find out for you if you like."

"Oh I wouldn't dream of wasting your time with something so trivial," she smiled politely. "It's nothing of importance."

"I hope your encounter with the crow didn't frighten you."

"Why should it have?"

"Well, the Others are a terrifying thought, even if they are nothing more than old tales."

Sansa bristled at his words and popped a lemoncake in her mouth. "And if they prove to be more than that?"

"Then the Wall should stop them."

"And if the Wall should fall? What then, my lord? Would your lord father raise his bannermen and go north?"

"North is your family's territory."

"Not anymore. Would you entrust the realm to the Greyjoys?"

Tyrion was both pleased and disturbed to find this new Sansa sitting across from him. She was matching wits with him on a subject that few below the Barrowlands would know about. He found he rather liked talking to her. She was clever. "I wouldn't entrust the contents of my privy to the Greyjoys."

"Nor would anyone," she scoffed. Theon's betrayal was still fresh for her. "But you don't believe in the old magic of the north, my lord. Why trouble your thoughts with it?"

Why indeed. Staring at Sansa Stark made him want to say everything on his mind. But should he? "When I was at the Wall, I could feel it."

Sansa didn't need to be told what. "I know."

"How?"

"I could see it when Ser Alliser was talking about the Others. I overhead my Uncle Benjen talking about the funny way things moved beyond the Wall and the uneasy tension the night brought. Is that what you felt?"

"Yes." Tyrion wasn't sure why he was letting her guide the conversation. He had meant for this to be about her and what she had whispered to the crow. But it had been a year since his visit to the Wall and those memories and feelings were still as new as the day they occurred. He hadn't realized how afraid he had been until now. It felt good to get it off his chest.

"The north has its own way of dealing things. Perhaps that's why Uncle Benjen remains lost."

"He's a good man. I'm sure they'll find him eventually."

"If the forest will give him back."

Tyrion cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

What did she mean? Sansa herself was confused at what she was saying. It was like another person had taken over. "People always vanish in the Haunted Forest. It's cursed. Some return, some don't."

"Sansa, did your maester ever tell you stories about when the white walkers lived?"

"Not truly. It was mostly Old Nan who was the storyteller."

"Did she say how they were defeated?"

"I – I don't remember, my lord. It was so long ago and I never paid much attention to those kind of stories."

"Neither did I," Tyrion snorted. "Now I desperately wish I had."

"You believe Ser Alliser then?"

"I believe that something is happening. All who have lived the former winters agree that this feels different. I believe your family had it right all along. Winter is coming. And no one is prepared."

"You will be. You always are it seems."

"This is different. How can you plan for something you don't believe will happen?"

"But you do believe," Sansa said innocently.

"Yes, I guess I do. You Starks will know what to do."

"Then maybe you should stop killing us."

Tyrion's smile disappeared. "I think we should too."

"Forgive me, my lord. I didn't mean to be unpleasant."

"No offense taken. We're both victims of our families, I think. Your brother is young and my father is old. He forgets what youth feels like. Everything is immortal when you are young. Had my father been here, I swear your father would not have died. It was a foolish, devastating act from a foolish boy. We need Ned Stark more than ever now."

"I'm afraid you'll have to settle."

"Settle? No, my dear. We all have our parts to play in this game. Your piece just hasn't been moved yet."

"Will it ever?"

Tyrion chuckled at that. "Enjoy the respite now, Lady Stark for I promise that once you make a move, you can never go back."

Did she want to go back? Back was the kingsroad where Lady was slain by Cersei's command. Back was where Joffrey showed his true colors by having that butcher's boy killed. Back was where she had no idea of the world and its workings.

Back was where there was no Sandor.

"I don't want to go back."

"Good." Tyrion couldn't hide the pride in his voice even if he wanted to. "You would have made a great queen," he said after a while.

"You really think so?"

"I know so."

Sansa took advantage of the serious moment. "Who does the lizard-lion belong to?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor felt his shoulder being pushed. He woke up and almost cried out thinking a ghost was in front of him. "Sansa?" he muttered. "What are you doing here?"

"I had a dream."

"What?" He rubbed his good eye before reaching for some wine. Sansa stopped him and sat on the bed beside him.

"I had a dream. That's why I didn't get enough sleep last night."

"Oh." He tried not to sound annoyed. "Okay."

"I found out who the lizard-lion belongs to."

"Okay."

"It's the Reeds. Their house is our bannerman and it's said some of their people have green dreams."

"What the fucking hells are green dreams?"

"Green dreams are dreams that come true," Sansa explained. She moved her shift so that she could sit more comfortably. "Howland Reed has a son, Jojen, and I heard that he has them."

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"He was in my dream. He warned me about not going back to Winterfell and said that it was lost."

"It was just a dream, Sansa."

"I don't think so. He gave me a warning."

"What kind of warning?"

"Winter is coming."

"He told you your house words?" His words dripped with cynicism.

"Yes," Sansa glared. "But he implied there was something more to it. And then this morning with Ser Alliser..."

"Gods, this is what you woke me up for? To tell me about dreams and old men?"

"I came to tell you that I'm going," Sansa snapped.

"Going?" Sandor pulled himself up. "Going where?"

"Winterfell."

"But you just said that it was lost!"

"It was only a dream," she mocked.

"Look, Sansa."

"Come with me."

"We've been over this."

"I know. But I'm revisiting the subject. Winterfell needs me. It needs a Stark."

"Then let your brother handle it."

"Which one?"

"Any of them! You think you can take on the Greyjoys by yourself, not to mention that Bolton bastard? He skins people alive you know. Even Joff isn't that sick."

"I can't take them on...by myself." She paused to let that sink in.

"Sansa...no."

"They would never yield to me, but they would to the Hound. And the northmen would rally for a Stark."

He grabbed her shoulders fiercely and brought her close. "Sansa, stop this."

Sansa threw his hands away from her. "If you won't help me, then fine. I'll do it on my own."

Before he could reach for her, she was gone. But he was just as quick. He slammed the door shut just as she got it open. "You aren't leaving."

"Move," she commanded.

"Or what? You'll sing me to death?" A hand reached out and flew across his good cheek. He caught it on the way down and flung her so hard into his body that she bounced off. He knew he was grabbing too hard but she didn't say a word. The heat from her body was coming in waves and he knew she was furious. "Don't do that again," he warned.

"Or what? You'll beat me to death?"

He had no idea where this new Sansa had come from but he liked it. He released her as hard as he had grabbed and she stumbled back. "You need sleep, Sansa. Come on, I'll walk you back."

"No," she snapped. "I don't want the Hound."

She shut the door behind her with a slam. Sandor rested his head on the wall before laughing bitterly to himself. "Women," he cursed.

He took another swig of wine and fell back into bed. Sleep hadn't come easy the first time he laid his head down but his conversation with Sansa had left him drained. She was becoming reckless and reckless people are dangerous. He took comfort in the fact that she had been banking on him caving in to her blue eyes by saying yes. But since he had said no, she wouldn't chance running away. Not yet at least.

"Sandor," a voice called.

Not even a hearbeat later, Sandor was on his feet with a dirk in his hand. "Whoever you are, I'm giving you one chance to show yourself. Come out now and I might let you keep some of your limbs." The tongue would have to go of course. He couldn't risk someone blabbing about his and Sansa's conversation.

"I'm here," the voice whispered behind him.

Sandor whirled around but no one was there. "Games only make me angry," he growled. A hand grazed past him but again, no one was there.

"Over here."

The man whirled on his heel and began to tearing through his room. Fortunately, he hadn't had much to go through but that only made it all the more confusing. He was not accustomed to that feeling. "Craven," he growled.

"Over here."

Sandor turned and saw a boy, no older than the Stark's cripple, standing in front of him. "I'm not afraid of killing a child."

"Then do it."

Sandor slashed the sword into the figure but he hit only air. "What the fuck?"

"You must protect her," the boy warned.

"What are you peeping about, boy?"

"You must protect her. She must not come to Winterfell."

Sandor shook his head. He must have a fever. "Why not?"

"Winterfell is broken."

"She'll repair it."

"She must not come," the boy urged. His green eyes were full of pleading.

"Then where should she go?" If he was dreaming, what was the harm in playing along?

"The Inn of the Kneeling Man."

Sandor had never heard of it. He shook his head again and the apparition was gone. "Fuck me, this wine takes its toll."


	12. Lone Raven

**A/N**: I'm so sorry about the lack of update. I have no excuses except to say I was finishing up A Feast for Crows. Those of you who have read it know why it took me so long to finish.

Chapter 12: Lone Raven

"Come forward and proclaim your loyalty to the rightful king of Westeros," a man bellowed into the throne room.

Sandor watched as several prisoners that had been captured at Blackwater came to kneel before Joffrey. One by one the men recanted their belief that Stannis was the rightful heir. All of this was just for show as Joffrey had already had a private audience with these men a few days ago. They had their lines they were supposed to say and tears were spilled to emphasize their regret. Sandor was bored out of his mind. Sansa wasn't even visible from he was standing so there was no point in attracting attention if she didn't want to be seen. Obviously, she hadn't forgiven him yet for what happened the night before.

Truth be told, he hadn't been entirely sure that what happened wasn't part of some dream brought on by the wine. He caught a glimpse of her when everyone was filing into the throne room and he felt the hairs on his arm go up. She was glaring at him. Her blue eyes shone like ice and they were directed straight at him. He blinked away and by time he looked back she had moved. Well, if she wanted to act spoiled then that was her problem. She knew he didn't believe in gods or the so called magic that came from her neck of the woods. The only explanation was that he was incredibly drunk and she was either insane or her gods had played a cruel trick. But that wasn't what bothered him; it was Sansa's determination to leave. She wouldn't last a day on her own. Someone was going to have to protect her. He gladly would have done it if the risk wasn't so great. His neck meant nothing but hers…hers was everything.

A loud shout brought him back to the present. Some man was talking about the Red Priestess Stannis had taken up with. One of the high council members must have asked him about it. The man looked terrified – just like the Crow did when he talked about the Others.

"I saw her," he gasped. His eyes were wide with fear and his voice shook. "I saw her put three leeches into the fire. She made him say the names."

"What names?" Varys asked. The bald lord was intrigued. Too intrigued.

"I-I-I co-couldn't hear the first but I heard him say the Young Wolf's name and then Joffrey Baratheon."

"King Joffrey," Cersei snapped.

"Y –Yes, Your Grace. King Joffrey. He said King Joffrey."

Sandor desperately wished he could see Sansa. She must have heard her brother's name – everyone did. Joffrey wormy lips smiled next to him.

"Robb Stark, huh?" Joffrey said. Sandor saw his beady little eyes flit up to the balcony. Could the little prick see her? "I'm torn, Mother. Should I wish this to be true or should I cut out his tongue for lies?"

"It is your decision, my King."

Sandor already knew what the decision was.

"Dog, cut off his tongue."

"NO!" the man screeched. "I tell the truth!"

Drawing his sword, Sandor grinned at the trembling man. He calmly walked down the steps toward his target. He was suddenly furious at the events of last night and here was someone he could put his rage on.

_Perfect_. His face twitched as he drew closer. The man had become a proper mess, begging to be taken seriously.

"Open your mouth or my dog will open it for you," Joffrey commanded.

The man refused so Sandor looked back at the king. The blonde waved carelessly and without a second thought Sandor ripped the man's jaw open so hard it split, sending blood everywhere. Joffrey laughed and that caused the rest of the room to do the same. The man fell on Sandor and he quickly pushed the jawless man away. A thump reverberated through the hall and the floor turned red. The hairs on his arm stood up again and he turned to see Sansa staring at him with a blank expression. But her blue eyes sent a disgusted look straight to his heart. He quickly turned and cut the tongue.

xxxxxxxxx

That afternoon Sansa Stark found herself looking out at Blackwater Bay. The evidence from the battle was still floating. She could even see parts of soldiers idly passing their way through the waves that crashed on the rocks. It was strange how calm she felt. Though she felt sorry for those men who died, she found herself wondering what led them to side with Stannis: was it of their free will or had they simply followed orders given by a lord? She had heard rumors about Stannis taking up with a red priestess who had convinced him that he could win. She also had heard that he didn't care who died so long as he got the iron throne. She didn't know what to believe. Stannis was supposed to be the good guy in this mess. But she had heard from his own soldiers' lips his manner of ruling. He was not kind but he was fair.

'That red priestess must have a very powerful influence if men believed her,' Sansa thought. That idea gave her a violent shudder.

"Milady?"

Sansa heard Shae's concern and gave a reassuring smile. "Hello, Shae."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. What's this?" Shae had brought in an envelope and handed it to Sansa. The redhead gently broke the seal and instantly knew that Cersei had sent it; the handwriting was all fluff with no substance. But the words chilled her none the less. "Shae, help me get dressed. I'm to meet with the queen as soon as possible."

Sansa swallowed hard as Shae helped her into another, more suitable gown for an audience with Cersei. Her hands were shaking by time Ser Meryn Trant had come to collect her.

"It'll be all right," Shae whispered just before her lady stepped out.

Sansa desperately wished that were true but with Cersei, one never knew what they were going to get. The hallway to Cersei's room was so familiar to Sansa that she felt as though she could name every crack that graced the walls. For some reason, this walk felt longer than any of the others. Every step echoed back at her and told her to run to Sandor and flee the Red Keep. It was a silly notion of course but Sansa allowed herself to linger on it. It made her think of Arya. 'She would do it,' Sansa cursed at herself. 'So why can't you?'

It angered her to know that her little sister was able to do something that she had been unable to do for a year now. But that was Arya and she was gone now. The realization hit her so hard Sansa lost her breath. She recovered quickly but it wouldn't have mattered: Ser Meryn had been paying no attention to her from the start.

Finally, they arrived at Cersei's quarters and Ser Meryn announced Sansa's arrival.

"Dearest Sansa," the queen cooed. "Come. Make yourself comfortable." Sansa was instantly on the alert given their past experiences but she took her seat anyway. Cersei made sure her guest was comfortable before giving her best smile. "I'm sure you're wondering why I called you in here."

Yes, she very much was but Sansa was not about to say that. "I was rather surprised."

"How are you, my dear?"

"I'm well, your grace. And might I inquire as to your own well being?"

Sansa's manners made Cersei sick. She itched to wrap her fingers around that perfect white throat and watch the life drain from the girl's eyes. But she was a queen and that would simply raise too many questions, not to mention upset Robb Stark and that might make his sword become acquainted with Jaime's head. Instead, she simply smiled again. "You may. I'm relieved that my son was able to arrange another marriage, especially to House Tyrell."

Sansa wasn't sure how to respond so she smiled politely and said, "Margaery will make an excellent queen."

Cersei's eyes narrowed at her guest but not in an entirely malicious way. "You can stop pretending now, little dove. I am far too smart for you and I tire of your empty courtesies."

"I'm not sure what your grace means."

"I see myself in you, Sansa – not always but sometimes I look at you and see how I was when I first came here. Luckily I had Jamie and my father with me to help soothe the transition. But you have no one, do you?" She saw the girl swallow hard at that. "Contrary to what you might think, I am truly sorry for our houses not getting along. I never intended for your father to die or for Joffrey to behave as he does. But make no mistake, I love my son. I may not always agree with his decisions but he is my king and at the end of the day, I must put aside those motherly feelings and accept the king's decision."

"You have a difficult job," Sansa remarked.

Cersei quirked her head. "What do you mean?"

"I only meant that a king's mother must find a balance between being the king's subject and being the king's mother."

Cersei didn't want to admit it, but she impressed at the girl's statement. "Indeed it is. I had hoped Joffrey would turn out to be like his father, but that prayer was lost on the gods. Fortunately, that is something you will never have to find out."

'Unless Robb wins,' Sansa sneered in her head.

"I have it on good word that Margaery Tyrell is going to ask you to sup with her and her family soon."

"She is?" That thrilled her! Margaery seemed to be nice from what Sansa had heard and her brother, Loras, was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. She remembered the rose he gave her during the King's tourney and smiled.

"Yes," Cersei snapped. "Now listen to me very carefully, little dove. Do not, under any circumstances, tell the Tyrell's of what has occurred during your stay here. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, your grace."

Cersei let the hatred in her voice seep through though she kept it low, which somehow made it more menacing. "If I even think that you said one word against the king or me, I will make Joffrey seem like a hero from one of your precious songs."

Sansa let in a soft, sharp breath and nodded submissively. "Yes, your grace."

"Good. Now be a good girl and get out."

Sansa bowed slightly and took her exit. She was completely shaken by the conversation and wanted nothing more than to get back to the sanctuary of her room. Her breath was coming out erratically as she told Ser Meryn that she could walk back on her own. After she had turned the corner from his prying eyes, Sansa began to sprint. Tears were blinding her eyes and the air made them sting the faster she ran. She hadn't even seen the guard until she slammed into his body. The force was so great that it catapulted her to the ground. The commotion caught a few of the guards' attention.

"Lady Stark!" one called out. "Are you hurt?"

She was. Sansa felt blood trickling down arm and she saw that there was a minor scratch against the palms of her hand. "I-I'm fine." She felt hands around her waist and under her arms as the guards helped her up. "Are you hurt?" she asked, finally looking up. It was only then she noticed that she had run into Loras Tyrell.

"No damage done," he smiled sweetly. He held his hand out and Sansa laid her hand on his. He turned it over and examined the cut. "Would you like me to fetch Maester Pycelle?"

"I don't think so," she said breathily.

"I concur. It doesn't seem to be life threatening," he winked. He released her hand and palmed the hilt of his sword. "If I may be so bold, Lady Stark, you look unwell. Is something wrong?"

"No," she replied a little too quickly. "I mean, thank you for your concern but I am only a little tired. It has been a long day."

"Indeed it has; however, it is good fortune that we should run into each other."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my sister, Margaery, has requested that you join her and my family to sup."

"How kind of her." Sansa wondered when the shaking in her voice would stop. If Ser Loras heard the nerves, he chose not to comment on it. "I would be honored."

"My sister will be pleased."

The moment turned slightly awkward.

"Well, I'm sure you have somewhere important to be so I'll be on my way," Sansa remarked politely.

"Are you sure you aren't hurt?"

"Very sure but I thank you for your concern. Have a good day, Ser Loras."

Loras Tyrell bowed low. "Good day, Lady Stark."

The rest of the walk was a bit of a blur to Sansa. Her hand ached a little from the fall, but it was her head that was swimming – whether it was from the hit or the tears being held back, she couldn't tell. Her bed looked inviting after the stressful conversation with Cersei and with one loud sigh, Sansa collapsed on it. She exhaled deeply and shut her eyes hoping to see the walls of Winterfell when they opened. "Please," she implored the gods. "Please take me away from here."

A tear trickled down the side of her face and Sansa couldn't hold it in anymore. She wept bitterly and continued to do so until the last ounce of her energy had been drained. Afterward, her eyes drooped and she found solace in sleep.

It wasn't until a hand shook her that she awakened.

"What's going on?" she mumbled.

"It's nearly suppertime," Shae announced. "Ser Loras informed me that you are to dine with the Lady Margaery tonight. I have your bath ready."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

While Sansa was getting ready for her dinner, Sandor was trying to come up with some way to get out of a meeting with Tyrion. The Imp had summoned him shortly after court. He was to meet Tyrion in the sept after tending to his regular duties, which basically consisted of walking around and pretending to care about the king's welfare.

Sandor stood on the steps to the sept and wondered what the hells he was doing. A chill breeze persuaded him to go in.

"Ah, Clegane," Tyrion sang. The dwarf ushered in the Hound and waved him to a chair. Rooms always seemed to shrink whenever Sandor Clegane came in. "How is my nephew today?"

"Alive," Sandor rasped. "Skip the shit, dwarf and tell me what you want."

"How is Sansa and before you say you don't know, I know you do so don't lie to me."

"She's alive also." The Hound felt Tyrion's eyes digging into him.

"You know that's not what I mean. But I understand your trepidation. This place can be…perilous." Tyrion stared at his guest. "Clegane, I realize we have never gotten along but you seem to be even more tense and angry than usual." The Hound glared at him through narrow eyes. "Would this have anything to do with a particular someone?"

"Tell me what I'm doing here."

"Fine. Lord Varys has received a raven from Winterfell."

"I thought all the ravens were dead."

"We thought so too but apparently someone saved one on purpose."

Sandor grabbed the scribbled piece of paper from the tiny lord and read quickly. His eyes flickered up. "Is this a jape? It's not funny."

"I'm afraid not." Tyrion's voice was low as he spoke – a hint of sadness hidden below the surface. "We've heard reports from the Stark's encampment as well. Both are dead."

"Does she know?"

"Not yet; but I would prefer if she heard it from someone less…Joffrey-like. Luckily, Varys comes to me first with these kinds of things but the king and my sister will find out soon."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"She'll need someone, Clegane. Someone she can use as a shoulder to cry on. Can I count on you?"

"Of course," Sandor snapped.

"You're the only here who cares nothing for her title. Men like Littlefinger will try and worm their way into her good graces and we both know why that is. The North is the key to this land, Clegane and Sansa is the lock."

Sandor pondered that statement and all its implications. He took a deep sigh and said, "What do you want me to do?"

"That is up to you to decide."

"I thought you were the one who warned me against this."

"Circumstances have changed. I change with them."

"When do you plan on telling her about this?" He indicated to the raven's note.

"Me? No, not me. She would never believe the news if it came from a Lannister."

"Well who then?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Ser Loras," Sansa gasped.

"Lady Stark. I have come to escort you to my sister's room."

The knight looked breathtaking in his white and gold armor, brown hair and sparkling eyes that had a hint of seduction of them. Sansa felt rather ordinary next to him.

"Oh. I was not expecting you, ser."

Loras smiled brightly at Sansa's fluttering. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, please." Sansa was surprised to see the Knight of Flowers walking next to her rather than behind. 'I got used to Sandor,' she mused. "I still have that rose," she said awkwardly.

His beautiful face wrinkled into a look of confusion. "Rose?"

"That you gave me during the Hand's Tourney."

It was clear he had no clue what she was talking about.

"Oh, that rose," he replied.

"I'm sorry about Lord Renly. I liked him."

"As did I, my lady."

Sansa noted a darkness had come over him. "Your sister must have been sick with grief."

"My sister?" He scrutinized her tightly. "Yes, my _sister_ was distraught."

'I have offended him,' Sansa realized. But what could she have said that would cause offense?

"Lady Sansa," Margaery Tyrell cooed. The brown haired fiancée of the king held a warm smile and tight hug for her guest. "I am so very pleased to have you dine with me and my family tonight."

"The honor is mine," Sansa replied cautiously but polite. She watched as Loras made a stiff exit. She would have to ask Sandor if he knew what the problem was since they were both in the kingsguard. For now, she had to play her part with the Tyrells.

"I believe you've heard of my grandmother," Margaery said as an old, wrinkled woman looked up to Sansa.

"The Queen of Thorns," Sansa blurted.

The short woman smiled warmly. "I prefer Olenna, though I dare say I earned the nickname."

"Oh, my apologies."

"Don't be silly, child. You have nothing to be sorry for. Come and sit next to me, Sansa and for the sake of the gods, stop your fidgeting. You're bound to give pigeons a bad case of the nerves."

Olenna Redwyne, also known as The Queen of Thorns, was notorious for her shrewd mind and cunning wit. Her quick intellect rivaled those of Littlefinger and Varys. If she asked for the truth about Joffrey, Sansa would be found out in the blink of an eye.

The conversation was general at first – nothing too serious. They wanted to know about King's Landing and the Keep and in return Sansa got to ask about Lord Renly and Highgarden. Slowly, the topic began to dig deeper into what was going on inside the kingdom. Sansa had no idea how to respond to the questions. Part of her wanted to say everything that happened and beg them to take her away; the other part had learned that just because someone _appears_ nice doesn't mean they _are_ nice. Yet Sansa had a hard time thinking that the Queen of Thorns answered to anyone she didn't want to.

"Sansa," Margaery said with concern. "Are you all right?"

Sansa blinked again at the statement she had just heard from Margaery. "You were betrothed to a _Targaryen_?" she asked Lady Olenna in disbelief.

"Indeed I was." Her white hair moved silently along her shoulders as she nodded.

"What happened? Why didn't you marry?"

"I didn't want to marry into that House. That is a cursed House."

"How did you manage to not marry?"

"I have my ways," she smiled wickedly. Her face changed rapidly for an old woman. "Remember this, Sansa: always follow your instincts. I did not love my betrothed and I knew it would not be a good match. The Targaryens were the most powerful house in the Seven Kingdoms but I knew deep in my bones that it would mean the end of my life – and my family's – if I married him. Power can change hands in the blink of an eye, dear child. One lowly man's choice can mean the difference between life and death, victory and defeat."

"How can a low born man do that?"

"Who do you think wins wars, girl? It sure isn't the precious lords and commanders who sit in the back and bark orders. It is the common soldier who makes one more kill thus making the enemy more vulnerable. And who are these common soldiers?"

"Bannermen."

"Correct. But they are not just bannerman, Sansa. They are men with families who miss them when they go to war and they mourn just as hard as a highborn lady when men don't come home. Your brother knows that from what I hear."

"Robb?" Sansa was startled for a moment.

"That's the one. They call him the Young Wolf, do they not?"

Sansa tried to not cry. She quickly downcast her eyes and swallowed hard. "Yes, I believe they do."

"What's the matter? Have I offended you, my dear? I did not mean to. He is your brother though. I would think you would like to talk about him."

"My brother is a traitor."

Margaery and the rest of the family stared at Sansa.

"Is that what the little king wants to hear?" Lady Olenna asked pointedly.

The whole room was looking at her. Sansa felt ill. She could feel the blood draining from her face as the lemon cake she had swallowed threatened to reappear.

"Grandmother, stop pestering the poor girl," Margaery chided gently. "Look, her hands are shaking."

Sansa looked down and saw her finger trembling against their will. She quickly gathered them together. "It's all right."

The two Tyrell women glanced at each other.

"Sansa, you don't have to be afraid of us," Margaery stated softly. It was almost a whisper, chilling Sansa's bones.

"What are you afraid of?" The Queen of Thorns asked, not ungently; her impatience put aside for a brief moment. When Sansa didn't answer, she rested a crinkled hand on the trembling girl. "Tell me."

Sansa felt naked under the woman's scrutiny. Her eyes flittered around and she shook her head. "I can't. She has ears everywhere."

"Well we can fix that. Butterbumps!"

Butterbumps was the jester the Tyrells had brought from Highgarden. Sansa noted the only two things about him was his girth and his ability to break wind at will. Neither were appealing to her. The heavy man bobbed his way over to their side of the table.

"My lady," he bowed, ridiculously low.

"Sing The Bear and the Maiden Fair will you? And be sure to sing so loud the gods have to cover their ears."

Butterbumps startled everyone when he took Lady Olenna's command to heart. He bellowed so loud, Sansa was afraid the tapestries would come off the walls.

"Now," the woman continued in Sansa's ear, "Tell us."

Sansa blurted out everything from the wicked manipulation of the queen to Joffrey's cruel beatings and the lies she was forced to tell the king about her family. Each new revelation about her life at court disgusted Lady Olenna and Margaery. When Sansa felt as though someone might be listening, the Queen of Thorns would yell for her fool to sing the song again even louder than the last time. The only thing Sansa kept carefully hidden was Sandor.

"Enough!" Margaery commanded once Sansa had concluded her tale. Butterbumps stopped mid lyric and bounced back to a spot down the table.

"That is troubling," Lady Olenna muttered softly. "But lighten up, dear child. I have a proposition for you."

Sansa's curiosity was peaked. "Oh?"

"Yes. But we shan't discuss it here."

With that, the discussion was dropped; though Margaery sent a wink to Sansa and a small smile. She tried to eat the rest of her food and enjoy this company of women that weren't under Cersei's sadistic thumbs. At first she was worried that someone had overheard her talking to Lady Olenna but her fears were dispelled. No one seemed to care about they talked about. Her shoulders relaxed and her nerves calmed. Finally, Sansa was having a good time.

The dinner party lasted longer than she had thought and before she knew it, Margaery was offering to walk her back to her room. Sansa conceded and the brunette took her arm. When the door opened, Sansa was surprised to see Sandor standing guard.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, slightly irritated. She hadn't forgiven him yet for what he said to her that night she went to him.

"The king's orders," he rasped. His glare sent a chill down her spine.

Sansa felt Margaery shudder next to her.

"Are you here to make sure no one attacks us in the hallway, Ser Hound?" Margaery asked.

"I'm no ser," he spat back.

"Oh. My apologies. Come, grandmother. The hour grows late."

Sansa turned and saw the short, hearty woman walking toward them. "Is she coming as well?"

"Of course," the young woman smiled. She hugged herself closer to the redhead and whispered,  
"We're going somewhere no one else can hear us."

Sandor was impressed at the Tyrell woman. She clearly had her grandmother's shrewdness and alert mind. This is who Sansa needed to be around. They began the journey to the serpentine that led to the outside. Just after the steps, Olenna Redwyne turned to face him.

"Who is this?" the wrinkled old woman asked, indicating to the tall burned man.

"This is Sandor Clegane," Sansa replied. "But you may know him as the Hound."

"Yes," the woman sang. Her old eyes bore into his gray ones. "The Mountain's brother."

Sandor bit his jaw down. "Aye."

"Are you anything like him, ser?"

"I'm no-"

"Ser. Yes, yes I heard you earlier but I call all worthy men 'ser'."

Her nonchalant attitude stunned Sansa. "What do you mean worthy?"

"When we talked, I never heard the words: dog, Hound, Sandor or Clegane. Did you, my sweet?"

"No, grandmother," Margaery stated.

Sansa felt her courage starting to rise. They were testing her, she was sure. "He is no knight."

"I see. Come, Lady Sansa. I am old and we have much to talk about and there are far too many eyes and ears in this place."

Sandor moved behind them at a leisurely pace. He didn't act too interested but naturally he was listening. They mostly talked about typical woman things such as handsome knights at court and the upcoming wedding. Sandor was bored instantly. It took ages but they finally arrived just outside of the godswood. He was told that he wouldn't be needed any further so he picked out a tree trunk and took his leave. To Sansa he felt cold and angry. He felt like the Hound.

"Why the godswood?" Sansa asked. Margaery was still holding on to her arm but now she was becoming giddy.

"Because no one knows we are here and if they did, that monstrous man would take care of them. Tell me: does he watch over you often?"

"Yes."

"Has he ever betrayed you?"

"On the contrary, he has saved my life."

That silenced both of the women. Clearly, they were astonished that a Clegane was capable of more than violence.

"Sansa, how is your family? I trust they are well."

"I pray they are."

"You mean you don't know?"

"No, Lady Olenna."

"That's a shame."

A hint of irritation bled through her tone and it set Sansa on edge. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you know what your brother needs to win this war?"

"He is winning the war."

A proud smirk flashed for a brief second on the woman's face. "This is true…so far. No, I'll tell you what he needs: Highgarden."

Tully eyes blinked. "What?"

"The Young Wolf could use extra support no matter how many battles he has won. Lord Tywin is no fool and now that the power of the Tyrells is behind him he could easily overpower your brother. This means that the Lannisters will lose without us."

"But Margaery is to be married to the king."

"Yes, she is."

"So you would be splitting your bannermen?"

Lady Olenna 'tsked' at her. "Have you learned nothing being around Cersei? Think, child!"

"She doesn't understand," Margaery said sympathetically. "And she's terrified! She probably thinks this is a trap. Am I right?" Sansa's lack of reply was the only answer they needed. "See. No wonder she can't think."

"I- I just don't understand what this would mean. Margaery would be queen and Joffrey would be king."

"You're half right," Margaery whispered. She kept her voice low so that it wouldn't carry.

That was when understanding dawned on her. "If the Lannisters are brought down, they could be defeated."

"Yes."

"And if they lose, you would still be queen and sole ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."

"You're getting there."

"If Margaery is queen, you would what? Give the north back?"

"To the rightful rulers: the Starks."

Sansa was flabbergasted. "Why?"

"The north follows no one but the Starks. That's the way of it plain and simple. We help your brother and he gets the north."

"What's in it for you?"

Lady Olenna piped in. "We would rule six kingdoms. That is plenty for a family, wouldn't you agree?"

"What about Stannis? He will never give up the claim and he rides with a red priestess."

"I know," Margaery replied. "But that does not mean he will win. I don't understand why he is fighting; he has no ambition for the iron throne."

"It is his duty," the white haired woman said. "And Stannis Baratheon will break before he bends. But we are getting away from the topic. Would your brother consent to an alliance between the north and Highgarden?"

Something about her statement rubbed Sansa the wrong way. Alliances weren't usually made by paper but by marriage. "How would the alliance come about?"

"Marriage of course," Margaery said.

"Whose?"

"Yours, sweet child." There was a sparkle in Lady Olenna's eyes.

"Muh- Mine?"

"Yes!" Margaery smiled.

"To whom?"

"Have no worries, it is not my oaf of a son. It is Willas."

Willas Tyrell was the heir to Highgarden and known to be a cripple but extremely kind. Sansa's breath left her. This was an incredible opportunity to not only escape King's Landing but to ensure Robb a victory.

Sansa had nothing to say.

"We must return," Margaery declared. "The queen wanted to speak to me before she turns in for the night."

"Ah, yes. So much information in one night. It wears on my old bones." Margaery helped her grandmother up slowly and wrapped an around her.

The walk back was silent on Sansa's part. She couldn't bear to face Sandor for fear she would burst into a river of tears. It wasn't until she had collapsed on her bed after parting ways with the Tyrell women that she let herself fully comprehend what had just been said. A soft rapt on the heavy door had her drying her eyes in a flash.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor was getting annoyed at the old crone's lack of speed. They had taken forever to get to the godswood and now the journey back to Margaery's room was taking even longer. While he was walking he kept replaying the strange day he had had so far. He thought Tyrion's suggestion of letting Varys tell his little bird that her brothers were dead was odd. It was nothing compared to seeing Sansa open that door arm in arm with Margaery fucking Tyrell.

He should have known considering Loras strode into the kingsguard tower and replayed his early encounter with her. Watching the curly haired ass talk about escorting the lovely Sansa Stark didn't bother him. What did was her reaction that Loras bragged about.

"She swooned?" Boros Blount laughed.

Curls moved along Loras' head. "Yes. It was rather precious actually. She couldn't breathe and her whole flushed when I escorted her to my sister's room."

Anger was the first emotion he had – but not at Loras. He cursed himself for thinking that Sansa meant anything by her words. 'It was only a crush,' he thought. It was a devastating thought but the only reason why she would be attracted to him at all. He had saved her life and in return she had thought him a hero. He pushed his chair out and stood.

"Hey," the Knight of Flowers called out. "You know you have duty tonight?"

"Fuck off," Sandor replied. He went to the kitchens and grabbed a skin of wine. He downed it in a matter of seconds. Nowhere near drunk, he took a stroll to the stables and spent some time Stranger before heading back to the Keep.

He wanted to kill something as they walked to the godswood. He was bitter and being dismissed like a dog didn't help his mood. Sansa said nothing and paid no attention to him, which is what they had discussed but that didn't lessen the pain. To his amazement, the women stayed only a short time. Usually Sansa was in there for hours. But he knew something was wrong when her lovely face had been drained of its color. Her sparkling blue eyes had lost their luster.

He dropped the Tyrell women off at their respective rooms and headed back to Sansa's. But not before stopping off to grab another wine skin. He practiced his speech about how maybe they moved too quickly and perhaps they should rethink this whole relationship thing. It would never work of course. He did truly love her, even if he didn't know how to. She deserved better though. Someone worthy of her.

"Sansa?" he called out. Carefully he closed the door. There was a faint glow in the room from a single candle. "Sansa," he said louder.

She emerged from the dark side of the balcony. The air swirled her hair around her shoulders and neck. He could see tear stains on her cheeks. A piece of paper was trying to escape her small fingers but she wouldn't let it. "Bran and Rickon are dead," she whispered.

"I know," he sighed. With a thump he rested on the edge of her bed.

"And I am to marry Willas Tyrell."


	13. Winter Sun

**A/N: I am profoundly sorry for the delay in updating. But thank you so much for all the great reviews and follows and favs! They are always great to read. Hopefully this chapter is good and y'all like it:) It's shorter than I wanted it to be but it got my muse going. Enjoy!**

Chapter 13: Winter Sun

Sansa's head was in some serious pain. It was as though someone had stuck a blacksmith in there and he started going to town on her brain. The throbbing sensation rendered her helpless but still she clung to the piece of paper that held the news of her brothers' deaths. For her, it was the last connection to them - those precious boys; brave Bran who feared only a dull life and baby Rickon. Though she supposed he wasn't much of a baby now.

She had just come back from meeting in the godswood with the Tyrell women when a messenger came out of the black hallway. "Don't," he warned just as she was about to read it. "Wait." He indicated to her door and slunk back into the dark.

_'That was strange,'_ she thought. _'Just when I thought this night couldn't get any weirder.'_ On one hand, what Margaery and her grandmother were planning elated her; on the other, she couldn't just leave Sandor - even if they weren't exactly getting along at the moment. That thought made her pause just as she opened the door. Why were they mad at each other again? She couldn't even remember. Her mother had said once that if you can't think of a reason to be angry, then don't be. "Some things aren't worth staying mad over," the Lady Stark had declared. Since Sansa couldn't remember for the life of her why she and Sandor weren't speaking, she concluded that maybe this was one of those things. She had to tell him about Willas Tyrell though. He was going to find out eventually since he was in the kingsguard and so was Loras.

Sansa snorted. Loras. How could she think he was better than her Sandor? Physically, he was beautiful and charming but Sansa had had enough of those type of men. Could she really throw him away for something so trivial as safety? Willas Tyrell never stood up for her in front of the king. He never told her she was beautiful when she felt lower than a common whore. He never rescued her from a vicious crowd or kissed her senseless. He had never told her he loved her and made her feel it every day since. And he never could. Because he wasn't Sandor.

But how could she deny her brother the victory that would ensue should she marry? Sansa sighed heavily and went to scratch her head when she felt the slip of paper crunching. The candle's flame licked the air as she brought it closer.

The rest of the hour was spent in a daze. All she remembered was reading the words and then closing her eyes. When she opened them again her cheeks were stained with tears and her body was covered in chills from the breeze blowing across the balcony. She was also acutely aware that someone was calling her name. Without her consent, words started coming from her mouth. She told Sandor that her brothers were dead but she didn't even notice the oddity of him already knowing about it. She was numb. The candle strained to flicker again. The whole room had an eerie glow, like it was mourning with her. She watched as the broad shadow that made up Sandor Clegane rested on her bed. "And I am to marry Willas Tyrell."

Sandor noted that the last sentence came out as lifeless as she looked. Her skin was luminescent in the chilled moonlight. Tonight was not the night to talk about his insecurities. But she had different ideas. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, his skin covered itself with goosebumps. She knelt down in front of him - blue eyes staring right into his soul. It made him ache deep in his bones. "I'll take care of you. I promise."

Her head turned to the right and she let out what felt like the thousandth sigh. "I'm sorry."

Sandor blinked at the unexpected apology. No one had ever done that before. "For what?"

"How I behaved that night in your room. I was stupid."

"You're not stupid," he snapped. She still wasn't looking at him so he gently turned her chin. "And I'm the one that owes you an apology. I didn't listen to you when you needed me to. That will never happen again. I swear it by all the gods."

"You don't believe in the gods."

"But you do. And what's important to you is important to me." He grasped the paper in her hand and placed it beside him. He bent down and knelt in front of her. "Sansa," he whispered. She finally looked up at him. He wiped his finger down to dry her cheek. "You'll get through this." He was concerned that maybe he had said the wrong thing. He wasn't good at these fucking sweet talks or whatever people said when bad things happened. He could only offer himself and hope that was enough. When she let a small smile grace her lips, he opened his arm and she fell right into the nook of his arm. All he had to do was hold her as she cried.

It wasn't until a hand shook him violently that Sandor realized they had fallen asleep on the floor. Sansa's body was cold and for a split moment a flood of panic filled him. Thousands of men had met their silent end during a cold night due to improper accommodations.

"You must go," Shae urged. "I have been trying to wake you for ten minutes. Maester Pycelle is on his way here. If he catches you -"

She hadn't even finished the sentence before Sandor was on his feet. He quickly picked Sansa up and set his little bird under the covers. "How long do I have?"

"Not long." A knock on the wooden door echoed through the stone walls. "Or none at all…"

"Fuck," he muttered.

"The bathing room." Shae pushed the Hound hard into the room. "Don't make a sound."

Sandor rolled his eyes at the brunette. What did she think he was going to do, bang on the door?

xxxxxxxxxx

Shae opened the door and let the old man in. Littlefinger also took it on himself to see to her lady's health. Shae wasn't surprised; the snake had kept his eye on her ever since Joffrey announced the dissolution to his and Sansa's engagement.

"Has she said anything?" Pycelle asked, his voice barely audible.

"No. She has been resting since she came back from dinner."

"What exactly did she say was the problem?" Littlefinger said.

"She didn't say anything. I came in to help change her into her nightclothes but she just stood there. Her hands were freezing and she never even looked at me."

Pycelle ran his hands over Sansa carefully though Shae (and Littlefinger) knew he was feeling a little more than he should. "Yes," he huffed. "Her body is cold. The change in the weather may affect her a little. I can give her a cure for the head pains and a sleeping draught if they are keeping her awake."

"Thank you, Maester," Littlefinger said. "You may go."

Shae saw the defiance on the old man's face and had to smother a smile. The ancient maester had been reduced to nearly nothing in the recent months. Had he been a good man, Shae would have felt sorry for him.

Once the maester had left, Littlefinger turned to Shae. "How has she been?"

"She has been well, Ser Baelish."

"You needn't lie to me. I care about Lady Sansa."

"As do I."

Baelish's eyebrows knitted together. "How are the Tyrells treating her?"

"I do not know, ser. You should ask her."

"Surely you must know something," he replied in that creepy way he was known for. "I've seen you keeping a close eye on her. She likes you."

"And I her."

"Yet she doesn't tell you how the woman who has replaced her as future queen is acting? I find that hard to believe."

"I am only her handmaiden. I do not share her confidence in such matters." Shae knew he didn't believe her. But she kept her face blank until he bid her goodnight. She locked door behind him and heaved a relieved sigh. Then she went to fetch the Hound and found him staring daggers at her. "What is wrong?"

"That fucking cunt."

"What?"

Littlefinger," he growled. He shoved his way past her and hit the wall with his hand out of frustration. Shae winced at the sound. "What does he want with her?"

"I-I don't know."

"I wasn't asking you," he barked. "He wants something. He always does."

"What could he possibly want from her? She has nothing anymore."

"She has the North, which means she has power. And Littlefinger always wants more power."

"But she has no control over that. She is only a woman."

"Haven't you ever heard of Maege Mormont?" Of course she hadn't. "She rules Bear Island - with an iron fist too. Could put the little shit king on a spike with her finger if she wanted. But she's with the Starks. Believe me, Sansa has more power than she knows, probably more than the Young Wolf. She has the beauty, the charm, and the loyalty needed to rule the North. The only things she and the rest of her family lacks is the experience to play the game. Whoever marries her would have the northern kingdom in the palm of their hand but he would have to be smart and cunning to maneuver such an arrangement." Sandor's mind began to work out Littlefinger's plan as he talked. He turned to Shae and let a tired smirk. "He's going to try and marry Sansa."

Shae's eyes grew wide and she shook her head. "That's not possible."

"Any recipe is possible if you have the right ingredients coming together at the right time. And Littlefinger is a master cook. Oh, he's been planning this all along the clever little fuck. He's always had a soft spot for the Starks. I just didn't think he was this sick."

"You fault him for loving her?"

"He's not in love," Sandor insisted. "He's obsessed. He would marry her and put a son in her belly the moment our backs were turned."

"That's disgusting." Shae was physically revolted at that thought.

"I don't blame him. I want the same for myself."

"Yes, but you are…"

Sandor quirked his one eyebrow at her. "I'm what?"

"Different."

He let out a gruff snort. "I suppose that's a compliment."

"How could he plan any of that out? The Lannisters would know."

"Contrary to what people think, they aren't as smart as they appear. It's the Imp that has that family informed. The queen has no brain for running a kingdom; manipulating everyone around her to get to that point, yes. But she doesn't have what it takes to keep herself on the throne. Her beauty is fading and her paranoia has increased since the Tyrells appearance. Margaery is no Sansa - she knows how to play. The queen will be too concerned about her to care about Littlefinger; the dwarf has been reduced to nothing now that his father is here and Tywin is too cold to notice Sansa."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Sandor whipped his head around to face her. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure what he is planning, but Lord Tywin is up to something. I'm sure of it."

"Did the Imp tell you this?" Sandor mocked.

Shae narrowed her eyes. "No. I don't just see him and my lady all day. I have spare time too. And the maids are easily persuaded to talk."

"Whatever he's doing, I'm gonna have to keep a sharp eye on him."

"Let me know if I can help."

"Why are you doing this?" Sandor genuinely wanted to know.

Shae glanced back at the sleeping form breathing steadily. "I don't know."

xxxxxxxxxx

The door to Sandor's room was open. Hesitantly, he moved closer until he was inside, drawing a dagger. Moonlight slowly creeped through the clouds and gave off an unsettling aura. He sensed someone was there but only shadows greeted his eyes.

"Whoever you are," he growled. "I'm giving you one chance to run otherwise your ass is mine."

He was fully inside when the door slammed shut. Whirling around, Sandor blinked at the figure in front of him. "Littlefinger," he said, his tone rough and curt. "What the fuck are you doing in my room?"

"I know you aren't one for words, Clegane so I'll get to the point."

Sandor snorted silently and moved to pour some wine in his cup. Since he and Sansa had been together his desire for wine had been tempered but not completely tamed. He didn't offer Baelish any, hoping that would speed things along. "Get on with it."

"I have a proposition for you that should you choose to do it, could be very profitable."

"I don't care about money."

"Profit isn't always about money," Petyr smiled devishly. He watched the Hound take a seat, looking less impressed the more time passed.

Sandor tucked his lips together as the wine trickled down his throat. His gray eyes hardened. "Spit it out, Baelish."

"Things are…changing and they're changing fast. I need to make sure someone of great importance will survive the transition."

Setting his cup down, Sandor leaned forward on his knees and said, "I'm going to count to three. If you haven't stopped talking in fucking riddles I will tear your throat out. One."

"I want you to help me make sure someone isn't being watched."

"Two."

"Clegane, be reasonable."

"Three."

Petyr Baelish saw the Hound get up and panicked. "It's Sansa Stark." That stopped Clegane. Littlefinger let out a shaky breath.

"The Stark girl? What about her?"

"I know the queen has you watching her. But I want to know what she knows."

"Now why the fuck would I risk my neck for the likes of you?"

"I know you want to take your brother's life. I can make that happen."

Sandor examined the man suspiciously. "How?"

"The king has given me Harrenhal. The Mountain is there now, waiting for his next command."

"My brother is the Hand's pet. I would be killed if I touched him."

"You can't be held accountable if you aren't there."

"More fucking riddles," Sandor sighed. His frustration was mounting.

"I have a plan, Clegane. You can finally have your revenge. The only price I ask is your cooperation."

"I'll think about it."

"Make sure you don't take too long. One never knows when calamity will strike them."

Sandor didn't appreciate the threat. "Get the fuck out of my room." When the slender man left, Sandor collapsed on his bed. Littlefinger made the third person to ask him to watch her. What was it about Sansa Stark that had everyone so on edge? And why were they coming to him? "Fuck me," he sighed. It had been a very long, very peculiar day for him. He had hoped to clear things up with his little bird but that could wait. The last thing she needed was more drama.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sansa woke with a start. Her eyes were heavy and her lids were stuck together due to the dried tears. She felt a body next to her. "Who's there?" she asked shakily.

"It's me, milady."

"Shae? Oh thank the gods!"

"How are you feeling?"

"I can't see." Sansa's voice had risen at her panic but Shae soothed her nerves.

"It's okay. I'll get some water and we can wash your face. That should clear everything up."

Sansa felt a cool towel on her face as her trusted maid gently wiped it around her eyes. When she was done Sansa opened her eyes. "That's better. Thank you."

"Are you hungry?"

"No," Sansa shook her head. "I'm tired. So tired."

When Sansa laid back on her pillow, Shae went to throw the water out. "I'll fetch you some food. You need to eat."

"No," the redhead pleaded. "Stay with me a little longer."

Shae's heart bled for the girl. But she wasn't the right person to comfort Sansa. "Give me a moment. I'll be right back."

Sansa drifted off to sleep. She could feel someone looking at her though so she reluctantly opened her eyes again. "Sandor?"

Sandor Clegane had been watching her for a few hours. When Shae came to get him, he had almost resisted thinking it was too risky. But it was his day off and nearly everyone in the Keep had things on their mind to keep them from noticing his activities. No one had ever paid attention before and they weren't paying attention now. And no one had even come to see his little bird until well into the afternoon according to Shae. The queen had taken away the extra maids and employed them in Margaery's service and they had their hands full with the brunette.

"Hello, little bird." He gave a warm smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"Giving your girl a break. She's been keeping prying eyes away all day." That was true enough. Littlefinger, the Spider, and Tyrion all had their most trusted slave come to inquire about Sansa's schedule. But Shae was a fierce protector and she sent them away with nothing more than a cold look and a shove of the arm. "She thought I would be able to help but I thought you would still be upset with me."

Sansa smiled weakly. "I am."

"You want me to leave?" he asked.

"Why would I want that?"

"You're upset."

Sansa rolled her eyes and giggled quietly. She sat up and looked at him. "Sandor, just because I'm upset with you doesn't mean I have stopped loving you."

"…Really?"

Sansa sighed hard and patted the spot next to her. He plopped down and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Really."

"How do you know?"

"My mother used to tell my father that all the time when they would have fights."

"And they loved each other," he said more to himself than her.

"They did. Very much. They were happy but that didn't mean they never argued. Frankly, I think it's good for us."

Sandor raised his eyebrow at that. "You do?"

"I do. Being with you is always interesting, Sandor; but fighting keeps us sharp - like a knife needs a whetstone. If a knife is never sharpened, it becomes dull does it not?" She moved some hair from his face so she could see every inch of it. "I love you. We are both new to this and there are a lot of obstacles in our path and there is sure to be many more in this lifetime but we can't just pack up and leave because it gets too messy. You wouldn't leave in the middle of a battle because you thought it was hopeless would you?"

Blackwater flashed across his mind and what he almost did. "No. But I'm prepared for that. This…" he motioned to her. "This is not what I wanted."

"I know. I'm just as lost as you when it comes to things like this. But I think - I know - that if we put our minds to it, we can make a life together; a _happy_ one."

Sandor kissed her gently. "I promise I will never do that to you again."

"Me too." Sansa kissed him back. "I missed you." He smirked and buried his fingers in her untamed hair. "Did you miss me?"

"I always miss you," he said carelessly.

"Good," Sansa beamed.

"You feeling better now?"

"A little. I can't believe Bran and Rickon are dead."

"I'm sorry, little bird."

"How did this even happen? Winterfell was under Theon's rule. He would never hurt them."

"You thought he would never turn on your family either but he did."

"Winterfell is one thing but murder? He saved Bran when they were attacked by wildlings. Why would he do that and then turn and kill them? And where were their wolves?"

"I don't have any answers for you, Sansa. I wish I did but I'm in the dark too."

Sansa's head started to clear. There were things to be done and answers to be found. She wasn't going to get any of those things lying down. "Where's Shae?"

"Outside I think."

"Can you get her for me, please?" Sandor nodded and went to fetch the maid.

Sansa grabbed her robe and went to the wardrobe. "Ah, Shae. Will you please draw a bath for me?"

"Yes, milady," the woman curtsied.

"Sandor, I have a favor to ask you."

"Anything."

"I need to see Lord Tyrion."

"What? Why?"

"He has answers. I'm sure of it."

Sandor _really _didn't want to see that little fucker. But Sansa was right: if anyone could get her questions resolved, it was him. "All right. When?"

"As soon as I can."

Shae helped undress her while Sandor went to talk to the imp. It was a quick bath to make sure she was presentable and before she knew it, she was dressed and her hair was up in the southern way. She didn't want to draw suspicion in any way even though she loathed the style. A light blue dress helped give her skin a healthy tint.

The door rapped with a knock and Sandor entered.

"Nice dress," he smirked. Her long hair cascaded down, accenting her waist and hips. Her breasts were slightly exposed giving her an air of innocent seduction. He cleared his throat as she blushed. "The dwarf says he can see you now."

"I do wish you wouldn't call him that," she chided. She stepped out into the corridor with Shae and Sandor following. "He's done more for me than anyone else in this place."

"I can think of another who has done more."

"You know what I mean."

The Hound knocked on Tyrion's door and opened it when he was told to.

"Ah, Lady Stark. Do come in. Have a seat." He waited to take his own until Sansa settled in. He offered her some wine and she drank it greedily. Tyrion was impressed. "How have you been feeling?"

"Cold."

"I see. What can I help you with?"

"I think you know," she said with a confident voice. "What happened?"

Tyrion sucked in a deep breath and swallowed his own cup of wine. "Ramsay Bolton."

"Snow," Sansa corrected. "I would not give him the privilege of being called a noble."

"My apologies. It was Ramsay _Snow_."

"Did Theon help him?"

Tyrion's silence made the atmosphere awkward. "Yes."

Sansa closed her eyes and turned her head away. "How could this happen?"

"It's war," Tyrion said in a defeated tone. "One does what they must to survive."

Sad blue eyes met his. "How did they die?"

"We're not sure of the details."

"Then tell me what you do know."

"I'm not sure you're ready for it."

"Is it that bad?"

"It…isn't something a lady should hear."

"Please, Lord Tyrion. I need to know."

Tyrion Lannister was torn. Sansa was tougher than she seemed but the details were quite gruesome.

"They weren't flogged, were they?" Sansa asked in a shaky voice. "I couldn't bear it if they were."

"No," Tyrion replied gently. "From what I have understood, your brothers were hanged in the center of Winterfell and then…" he grew hesitant before continuing, "and then they were burned."

Sansa gagged slightly. "B-burned? Were, uh. Were they alive?" Her throat had closed up and she couldn't swallow. Her breathing had become shallow.

"I can't say for sure but I don't think so."

"Where were they buried?"

"They weren't."

Sansa paled. "They just left them up there?"

"Sansa?" Tyrion had noticed the color drain from her face. "Sansa, have some wine. It will calm your nerves." He poured her another cup. "You shouldn't be hearing this."

"They're my family."

Tyrion often wondered what it would be like to have a close knit family. As of late he had been sleeping with one eye open in fear of his sister. If only Jaime would return! "I'm sorry. I don't seem to be much help in this instance."

"The fault is mine," she conceded. "You were right. I should never have asked."

"You have every right to know. I only wish there was some better news."

"Perhaps one day there will be."

xxxxxxxxx

Sandor paced inside the godswood. He had been there for the better part of an hour waiting. She would come here to pray, he was sure of it. He heard a twig snap and saw the familiar red hair come through the trees.

Sansa stopped in her tracks. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying not to burst into flames. How did it go?"

"Well I learned my brothers were hanged and then burned in Winterfell's courtyard."

"Oh, Sansa."

She sat gingerly on the large tree trunk whose roots had come up. "They died in a place where they used to play. Bran and Arya would chase Rickon around all day in that courtyard. Jory would have to pull them by their ears to get them to stop. Mother would worry about their baths being too cold or too hot; Father would stand above and laugh so hard we thought he would die from lack of breath. Robb would pretend to sword fight with Jon and Theon. Those were the happy days." A tear ran down her cheek. "And now everything is wrong. Things weren't supposed to be like this. How did this happen?"

Sandor was at a loss for words. "What do you want me to do?"

Her blue eyes lingered on the ground before coming up to see him. "Nothing. There's nothing you can do."

There was one thing he hoped would help. He kneeled down in front of her knees and brought her in for a deep kiss. She returned it passionately. Her hands ran down the back of his neck until they reached the top of his tunic. He tried to pull away but she refused and brought him closer. He smiled into the kiss and returned it in kind. When they finally did break, both were breathless.

"Thank you," she said.

Sandor let out a light laugh. "What for?"

"You know just what I want even if I don't."

He shrugged carelessly. "I do what I can."

Sansa smiled at him brightly before she shivered. "I'm angry."

"I know. And you should be."

"How do I make it stop?"

"You let it out."

"What did you used to do when you were upset?"

"I fucked."

A deep blush encompassed Sansa's figure. "Oh," she giggled. "What do you do now?"

"I still fuck. It's just more…private now."

Sansa's face became even redder. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. It's becoming tedious to keep track of them."

"Tedious? That's a big word for you."

"I heard it from the Imp a few days ago. You impressed?"

"I am. I'm very proud."

He examined her closely as she fiddled with her hands, trying not to think about her family. "Do you know how much you mean to me?"

Caught off guard, Sansa blinked at the unexpected gesture. "What?"

"I know I don't always tell you what I'm thinking or how I feel and I'm sure that annoys you in some way. All you women want flowers and sweet words to fall out of a man's mouth every moment but I'm no good at any of that. I used to be good for only one thing: killing. But you opened my eyes and made my heart beat again."

"Sandor-"

"Let me finish." Her mouth closed and he continued. "You've had a terrible loss and I can't begin to sympathize because I was never close to my family. I understand you feel alone most of the time but just know that even if I'm not saying how much I care about you, I am _always_ thinking it. And should you ever want my full attention, all you have to do is ask. My life was little more than a bleak winter with no end in sight until you broke through the clouds and melted everything. You are the sun, Sansa. I will do everything in my power to keep you as such for as long as I can."

She was speechless. What could she say to that? It was the most romantic thing he had ever said and she knew that it took a lot for him to say it. After a few minutes, Sansa got her wits back. "I know who you are, Sandor; I accept it all."

They shared another kiss and he helped her up from the branch.

"You can get through this," he said. "You're stronger than you know."

"I hope so."

Sansa left the godswood first and headed straight to her room. Shae had gotten her a plate of food and the noble girl ate vigorously. While her maid brushed her long hair, Sansa relayed the details of her meetings with Tyrion and Sandor.

"So he hasn't been with anyone since you two have been together?"

Sansa shook her head. "No. Do you think he was telling the truth?"

"I've seen the way he looks at you. That man has eyes for no one else." Shae listened as her lady talked about the kiss they shared and what Sandor had told her - not all of it; she wanted some memories to herself. "That poor man," she snickered.

"I know," Sansa pouted.

"He has very good self control over himself to not do anything."

"Doesn't he? I'm very proud of him. I just wish there was some way to…you know, help him out or something."

Shae smiled into the mirror. "I told you about some things I've learned. Are you ready to hear them now?"

"I just received word about my brothers. In a few days, maybe I'll feel up to it."

"Soon then."

"Soon."


	14. Bare My Skin, Count My Sins

**A/N:** Seven hells, I hope I don't get raked over the coals for this chapter. The content could be considered by some to be offensive as it does have very dark themes. But hey, that's the world our couple lives in. The chapter title comes from Bleeding Out by the Imagine Dragons. The song was basically on repeat while I was writing this and it just fits so well considering the turn of events.

Please don't kill me.

Chapter 14: Bare My Skin, Count My Sins

Sandor looked around the king's bedroom, completely at a loss as to why the prick had summoned him here. He had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him on edge. Could it be about Sansa? Things had become unstable the past few days between them and they had been lucky to even get an hour alone. It was Shae who always managed to make it work. Making that little agreement with her a few months back had been the wisest decision he'd ever done. Shae and Tyrion got to meet in secret and so did he and the little bird. For a while things had been going well - too well. It was obvious now that things had changed dramatically over the course of three, very complicated days.

Glancing around the room, the atmosphere was tense. He was standing in the middle of a circle as eyes appraised him with an emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on though he was leaning heavily toward curious. The king especially was giving him a lusty but evil glare. It was the kind of look he got when he used to dissect pregnant cats while they were still alive. Or worse: when he would beat Sansa.

"Tell me something, dog" Joffrey sneered, "when you fuck, do you do it like an actual dog?"

Sandor looked down at the boy and crooked an eyebrow. "What?"

"How long have you been fucking her?" the king asked, more intrigued than angry.

"Which her?"

Joffrey chuckled at that and stared at his new crossbow. "It's beautiful, is it not?"

"It is, Your Grace."

"I think I'll go hunting tomorrow."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"But I don't want my mother mewling in my ear about safety and reminding me of how my father died. I would have you there with me despite what my mother says about you."

"If you say so, Your Grace." The door opened and in came Sansa with Tyrion in tow. The hairs on his body began to stand. This was not going to be good.

"So you will come. If you perform well."

Now he was getting nervous though he dare not let it show. "Perform?"

"Bring her in!" he bleated at the other guards.

What was the little fucker up to?

"I want you," Joffrey's voice slithered, "to fuck her."

Sandor turned to face the king but his face gave nothing away. Instead, he looked bored. "Fuck who?"

"You know who. Now I want to see you fuck like the dog you are."

He had warned her. He had warned himself. 'King's Landing is no place for a romance,' he had told himself. People had been killed for carrying on secret affairs in the Keep. Hells, the only reason a Lannister sat on the iron throne was because Rhaegar Targaryen fell in love with Lyanna Stark and the two ran away. Their love cost hundreds of lives and put another monster on the throne. He knew this place was deadly to love, now he was going to pay the price for ignoring it.

"Take off her dress," Joffrey commanded in a lustful tone. "Slowly."

Sandor obeyed.

**Two Days Ago**

Shae fit Sansa into her new dress - deep green like the one she had worn the night Joffrey humiliated her by making her take it off in front of Sandor. "It's a pretty color."

"It is," Sansa replied carelessly. She had a lot on her mind today.

Shae sensed her lady's trepidation of what was about to happen. "Don't be nervous. You'll be perfect. You always are."

"It's not something a lady does. That's all."

"Yes they do," she countered as she slipped a thread through the hole. "They just never talk about it."

"Really?" Sansa was terrified; but there was also a sense of excitement.

Shae smiled. "Really."

The maid had been teaching Sansa how to pleasure a man for the past few days; but practice time was over. After Sandor having to endure kingsguard meetings and Joffrey's little trips outside the Keep the past week, he finally got a day off. Sansa meant to take full advantage of that. She could kiss Margaery for coming to King's Landing - the king had paid her no mind since the brunette showed up.

She was so nervous that her hands were shaking. She didn't want to disappoint her teacher since Shae had been patient with her as she struggled to overcome the awkwardness of learning such un-lady like things. "What if I'm not good at any of it? What if he doesn't like anything I try?"

"He's a man," Shae chuckled. "He'll be grateful that you tried."

"Yes, but what if he doesn't like it?" Sansa stressed. "I'll be so embarrassed. I don't think I could look him in the eye ever again."

"You're so worried - what if this happens, or what if that does. If, if, if. Don't concentrate on the ifs. Think about the person you're with - all those things you love about them and everything will come naturally."

Sansa gave a nervous smile. "I hope so."

"Do you doubt my instructions?"

"Of course not! I just want to make sure everything goes well." There were two taps on the door - a signal that everything was clear. Sansa gasped. "I don't think I can do this," she panicked.

Another tap.

"Don't be ridiculous," Shae replied gently. "If all else fails, just be with him."

"Just be with him." Sansa repeated the phrase under her breath before she left with a man disguised as a kingsguard. She wasn't entirely sure how everything was planned out or even if it was real but she had to take a chance that it was. But the route they were taking was not what she had been told. Too scared to say anything lest she give herself away, Sansa kept her mouth shut.

They reached their destination - the godswood. They had just taken a less traveled path, she realized. The man bowed slightly before disappearing into the woods to her left. She was so nervous! Her pacing had formed footprints in the grass but it didn't soothe her anxiety.

"My lady," a voice called.

Sansa whipped her head around. "Lord Baelish," she said in disbelief. Terror filled her. He knew about her and Sandor! She swallowed hard and forced a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Your maid has not informed you of my requests then," he said. He inched closer until he directly in front of her. His eyes took all of her in.

"Requests?"

"I have something of great importance to discuss with you."

Sansa hated his voice. It grated through her skin and itched her nerves. "And what might that be?"

"Your escape of course."

"What?" Sansa couldn't believe it.

"I apologize for the subterfuge but it appeared that Lord Varys also had his own plan to talk with you. Naturally, I grabbed the opportunity first."

It dawned on Sansa: if she thought Sandor was meeting her here, then where did he think she was meeting him?

xxxxxxxxxxx

Across the Keep, Sandor was also pacing. He didn't like sneaking around but it was a necessary evil he supposed. _'Where is she?' _he kept thinking. Varys' spy was supposed to have brought her to the stables by now. He should have never let Tyrion plan this out for them. The imp had a great mind for some things but he was hardly a master of spies. A thousand questions ran through his mind as he ran his hand down Stranger's mane.

The sun began to fade; he had been waiting hours. The boys who fed the horses walked in, clearly in awe of his presence. He was in a sour mood. He figured it made him look even meaner than usual. He pushed past the small boys, knocking them out the way. The serpentine darkened with each step he took and people scurried out of his line of vision.

Shae was startled as Sandor pounded on the door. He looked furious but held his tongue until she closed the door. "Where is she?"

"Do I look like I know?"

Shae pushed him into the bathing room. "I don't understand. She left to go meet you."

"With who?"

"I didn't see his face."

"Fuck!" he cursed. "Someone's found out."

"I don't think so."

"Why?"

"You still have your head for one."

"Then where the fuck is she?"

"I don't know!"

"What do you mean you don't know!" he mocked angrily. "That's your only fucking job!"

"I thought she was with you!"

Sandor blinked as a thought appeared. "Littlefinger."

A look of understanding flickered across Shae's face. "He has been wanting to see her - begging, actually."

"Has she?"

"No. I haven't told her."

"Fuck! I have to find her."

"Wait!" Shae called out. She grabbed a shawl and ran to the door to meet him. "I'll go with you."

The godswood was empty. Sandor's mind was blank and at the same time filling up with terrible theories about what might have happened. Shae had searched a little beyond the wood but came back with nothing. Sandor saw no sign of her in the dirt save for a few footprints. She had been here…and someone else.

"Who do you belong to?" he asked the large footprint. There was no sign of a struggle but that did nothing to ease his fear. Sansa was too weak to fight and would have likely gone with whoever was here.

"Littlefinger?" Shae prompted.

"Maybe. I haven't taken to looking at the asshole's feet." But he definitely would now.

"We should go back."

"Are you scared?" he mocked.

"No," she snapped back. "But someone might wonder why we're here."

A twig snapped and Sandor unsheathed his sword. Shae, despite her denial, started to gather herself behind him. But when Sandor saw Tyrion waddling his way through the brush, he put his sword back.

"Clegane," he said. "I've been looking for you. Where is Shae?"

"I'm here," she replied and leaned her head around.

"Why aren't you with Sansa?" Tyrion asked her.

"We're looking for her; why else would we be here?" Sandor said in a sarcastic tone. "Praying?"

"You could use a little favor from the gods," Tyrion quipped. "Sansa's waiting for you," he said to Shae.

"She's in the Keep?" Sandor interjected.

"Of course she is. She has been for the past two hours. I thought you knew."

"Yes. I knew I she was there; that's why I'm out here looking for her."

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Clegane, I have far too much going on to bother with your petty comebacks, which if I may say, have become far more vicious of late. Shae, get back to Sansa as fast as you can. Her dinner guests are not ones to wait patiently. Clegane, walk with me."

Shae dared not kiss Tyrion but instead ran as fast as she could back to the Keep. Tyrion threw himself on a nearby branch. Sandor thought the world looked like it was on his shoulders.

"I never noticed how beautiful it is here," Tyrion noted. His small figure lifted itself up and back down as a heavy sigh emerged.

"What do you want, imp?"

"I'm tired, Clegane. I'm tired of everything - the games, the politics, the fighting."

"I thought you enjoyed playing the game of thrones."

"I did; I do. But just once in a while I wish things were different."

Sandor joined the dwarf on the branch, careful not to hit anything with his sword. "So do I."

The two men contemplated in silence, absorbing the serene nature around them.

"You're right," Sandor said softly. "It is beautiful in here. I never noticed it either."

"Too busy looking at the other beauty that graced us with her presence," Tyrion teased.

Sandor gave a wry smile, making his burnt side twitch. "Is she okay? Up there by herself."

"Lady Margaery is smitten with her like everyone always is. Besides, the Queens of Thorns will help her if my sister drops by."

"Yes, I heard the old lady has quite the bite."

Tyrion rubbed his head. "Yes. I'm sure my sister will adore having her around."

"I see that little doe has Joffrey wrapped around her finger."

"Yes," Tyrion mused. "Thank the gods for that. Better her than someone else."

"I also heard Littlefinger is to leave soon."

"That is true as well."

"When?"

"I don't know. Littlefinger does not tell me his plans, though I suspect it's as soon as the transition is complete."

"Transition?"

"I'm surprised you don't know. I would have thought you of all people would have your day of mocking me." Sandor's good eyebrow furrowed. "My father in his infinite wisdom has named me the new master of coin."

The furrowed brow uncurled itself. "Oh fuck."

"That was my precise reaction."

"Why?" Sandor was truly flabbergasted. Tyrion the new master of coin? The imp had no idea how to manage money - wars, yes but not money.

"To mock me I'm sure of it. Apparently this is his way of saying thank you for Blackwater."

"That's a shit way of saying thanks."

"It appears that this is my reward for my valiant behavior."

"It could be worse."

"What could be worse than master of coin?"

"Being the king's sworn shield has its fair share of shit days."

Tyrion clicked his tongue. "That would be splendid. I could hit assassins from below."

"They would never see you coming."

The two men stared at each other for a second before laughing.

"What's this?" a voice asked, gliding through the night air like the spider it belonged to. Varys stepped through the trees with no sound at all. Sandor wondered how he did that. "A lion and a dog becoming bedfellows? War does do strange things."

"Like bring spiders into the fold," Tyrion quipped.

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the bald man. "What do you want, Varys?"

"For a short winter, the war to end, you know…the simple things."

"You lords and your games," Sandor spit out. "It makes everything so fucking complicated."

"Oh, so I should wait to inform the Lady Sansa of her grandfather's passing?"

Both Tyrion and Sandor stood up at the news.

"Lord Hollster is dead?" Tyrion asked.

"Unless Sansa has another grandfather, yes."

"She doesn't know?" Sandor asked.

"How can she when I just received word?" Varys replied.

"When?" Tyrion piped in.

"Yesterday. The Young Wolf and his army are moving to Riverrun for the funeral. Also, I received another albeit more politically interesting piece of news." Both Sandor and Tyrion waited. "Robb Stark has broken his pact with the Freys."

Sandor saw Tyrion's face go white. He was sure his own looked the same. Walder Frey was not known for second chances.

"This will not bode well for the Starks," Tyrion declared.

"Why did he break it?" Sandor asked with a heavy heart. He knew whatever the reason it was not going to be good.

"To marry a woman."

'Yep, not good,' he thought. "A woman?" he sneered. "What woman would be worth a kingdom for?"

"From what I gathered, the girl is baseborn - a nurse in the camp." Varys saw the confusion on the two men's faces.

"He risked everything for a girl?" Sandor wondered, more to himself than anything.

"He did more than that," Tyrion said in a grave voice. Sandor turned his head and looked at him. "He has sealed his fate."

**One Day Ago**

"Seven hells," Sandor graveled. He pulled Shae into a corridor ungracefully. "Where have you been?"

Shae let out a gasp at his pull. "I have been my lady."

"And where has she been? How was the dinner?"

"She is in her room and it was perfect according to her."

"You didn't go with her?"

"Handmaids don't go to dine with nobles. You know that."

He shifted uncomfortably in his armor. "I can't believe I'm about to ask this but did she talk about me?"

Shae smirked. "She did ask if I saw you. I said yes but not for long. I also told her you were worried and she said that she begs your forgiveness but something urgent happened."

"What was it?"

"She did not say. I think she was frightened."

"No," he sighed. "She's learning."

He finally met up with her in a dark corner where the mold had started to smell. At first he didn't even see her; two hands had grasped one of his and pulled him to her. He knew from the goosebumps on his arm that it was his littlebird. He didn't think he would ever get used to that sensation.

Her lips smoothly met his. He smiled into it as she pulled back.

"I hope this is okay," she whispered. "I figured no one ever came around here."

"It's good," he said softly. She let his finger trail along her scalp and into her hair.

"I'm sorry," she said urgently. "I am, truly. I had gone to meet you but I was called back to the Keep and please don't ask me what it was about."

Seeing her so vulnerable sent a rush of lust through him. It was as though everything around them became a haze when she was near him. It was yet another sensation he didn't think he would ever get used to. "Tyrion told me you were safe. How was your supper?"

She smiled brightly. "It was good. I was certain you would be upset at my absence. I didn't want to leave but I thought suspicions would rise if I refused."

"You did good," he rasped. He played with a strand of her hair and she bit her lip. "Don't do that he warned."

"Why not?"

"It makes me want to fuck you."

Sansa blushed deeply. "Oh." It reminded her about her original mission to the godswood, which admittedly might have been a tad bit blasphemous to do in that holy place. "Well, I'm disappointed."

"About what?"

"I was going to practice some things I have been learning." Another blush came over her at the image in her head.

Sandor saw her eyes darken. He knew that look. A wicked smile grazed his lips and he bent to suck on her bottom one - the one that always stuck out when she was sad. When he released it, she pulled it back into her mouth before wiping it. She probably hadn't realized she did it. "I'm not going anywhere, little bird. Plenty of time." Though he preferred sooner rather than later. He would gladly have her screaming his name right now against this wall if he could. Keeping her honor in mind as well as her head, he backed away.

"I must go," she said quietly. "I am expected."

"Can't you be late?" he groaned. He backed her further into the wall and he could feel her pulse quicken.

"If it weren't Lady Margaery, probably."

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll take you to her."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"He's been with who?" Tyrion asked once more.

Pod looked tired from the hours he had spent listening to gossip. "It's true, milord. The rumor is that he lays with the Lady Stark's maid - frequently from what I gathered.

Tyrion almost blew the wine out of his nose. "The king thinks his sworn shield is fucking that woman?"

Pod nodded. "Yes, ser. The Spider himself had told the king in a private meeting."

His head hung low. "Get Varys in here. NOW." Within a breath, the door opened with Pod's return. "Where is he?"

"He is in room."

"Why is he not in mine?" Tyrion asked, slightly peeved.

"He looked busy, milord."

"He is always busy, Pod." Tyrion took off toward the Spider's room. He hated going there. It felt as though he were underground.

"What was so important you ignored my call?" he demanded once he had been admitted inside.

"Well good morning to you as well," Varys quipped.

"What's this I hear about you telling the king that Clegane and Shae are lovers?"

Varys couldn't help the sly smile that appeared as he examined the contents of a letter. "Do I detect a hint of doubt of my abilities, my lord?"

"That would depend on which abilities you have been using."

Varys took a deep breath and sighed. Slowly, he turned to face the imp. "It came to me late last night that the queen regent had grown suspicious of the Hound's movements. She had him followed all through the day apparently."

"Which is why he was met with silence in the godswood."

Varys nodded. "Lord Baelish and I often disagree on subjects but one thing we both want is for the Lady Sansa to have some semblance of privacy. I let my spies drop a note saying that Sansa was in the godswood and that's where he met her; which made the queen's spies report nothing of note. To any one else, it looks to be the king's shield looking for a go around with a pretty maid."

"And what about their counterparts?"

"That is up to you. Or would you prefer me to handle every aspect of those intimate relations?"

Tyrion let out a small laugh. Varys was truly brilliant. "I hope it worked."

"It did. The king has ordered a demonstration."

Tyrion's heart stopped. Did he hear that right? "A demonstration of…."

"The king has not stated - at least while my spies were around."

Tyrion groaned. He didn't like not knowing. "Where will this take place?"

"A private room I would think: perhaps a showing just for him and a few honored guests."

Tyrion had a sick feeling he knew who that would be. "And those might be?'

"I think you know."

"I suppose I do. When will this be?"

"I do not know. The king often changes his mind if the wind does not suit him. Though he is to be on a hunting trip within the next few days. If that is true, it would mean tomorrow is the gathering."

Tyrion moved to sit next to Varys, deep in thought. "What does that boy have up his sleeve," he muttered.

"We'll find out soon, my lord."

**The Morning Of**

"Hey, dog," one of the Lannister soldiers called out. "Is it true the king stripped the Stark girl in his bed chambers?"

Sandor turned his head and glared. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Some of the men were laughing and it was obvious they had been discussing this for a long time.

"We heard from one of the kingsguard that she was ordered to dine naked with him," he shouted across the table. "We also heard you were there. That true?"

"No," he growled.

"Aw come on," they called. "Tell us what she looked like!"

"I bet she has great tits," one said.

"She does! I see them sometimes through those dresses she wears. I have to have three whores to get her off my mind!" another chimed.

"What about those legs!"

"Oh," one groaned. "If I were the king, I would throw those over my shoulders and fuck her till she died."

"I bet she'll be a great fuck - the ladies are always are."

The men's laughter infuriated Sandor so much that he tossed the table he was eating at, making it land against the wall. He couldn't do anything about it. Men were men but beyond that his reaction would only intrigue them and that could be dangerous.

"Oi!" they called out. "What's your problem?"

"He guards her," one mentioned. "Lucky bastard."

"We heard what the king has in store for you, Hound! Let us know how it goes," the first man smirked. "Though it won't matter. By morning everyone will know."

Sandor grabbed the man by his throat and squeezed. "You should learn when to keep your mouth shut," he said, his voice dangerously low. He threw the man away like a wasted plate. He strode from the tavern in a quiet rage. If he had heard it from Lannister men down here, there would be no doubt that Sansa would hear what they had to say.

And he was right.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It's all over the Keep," Margaery said sadly.

Sansa was mortified. "How did you hear about that?"

"From Loras. He heard it from Ser Meryn who said the king had bragged about it recently."

"Why would he do this?" she muttered.

"Too much wine brings out secrets."

"But Ser Meryn wasn't in the room," Sansa explained. "Why would they take his word?"

"Because they are men. It matters not if it is actually true." The brunette stared at her companion. "Is it?" Sansa's silence was all she required. The Stark held back the tears but Margaery knew they would come. "I'm so sorry, Sansa."

"It was humiliating," she whispered. "And now it's happening all over again."

"It will pass," Margaery tried to explain. "Try to use this to your advantage."

"How do you mean?"

"Instead of being insulted and angry that it happened, own it. Make sure you wear your body with pride. You are a beautiful woman, Sansa. Men lust after you and women want to look like you. What is there to be ashamed about?"

Sansa gave a little smile. Margaery's question was valid enough, but Sansa wasn't her. When the two women parted, Sansa made her way back to her room but was sidelined by a group of men laughing around a corner.

"I swear to the gods, the Hound was there. Ask him."

Sansa recognized Meryn Trant's voice. It made her sick.

"How did you come by this?" a guard asked. "Did the Hound tell you?"

"No," Trant said. "But he's never denied it."

"That's true. I asked him about it earlier and he said nothing."

Sansa's stomach dropped. Sandor didn't even defend her?

"That's not surprising. I'm sure he wants to keep the image to himself," another snickered.

"You think he's fucking her?"

"The Stark? Seven hells, no."

"So he got to see the goods without paying huh? I never thought I'd envy the Hound but by the gods I do now."

"What a tight little body she has. Such a shame no one's taken it."

Sansa had had enough. Sick to her stomach, she flew to her room and barred her door.

"Sansa." Red hair whirled around Sansa's shoulders when she faced him. Anger flooded her as he took his massive steps to get closer. "I know you've heard."

Not wanting anyone to hear should they come to the door, Sansa marched into the bathing room with Sandor in tow. He closed the door behind him as he prepared to face her.

"Heard what?" she bit out. "How Joffrey humiliated me? How Ser Meryn has been telling soldiers about it? Or did you mean the part about you not defending me?"

"Sansa-" A hand flew across his face so hard it stunned him. More hits came across his chest until she barred her hands into fists.

She was screaming at him. Her anger came out in vicious assaults on his body. "How could you say nothing?! You just sat there and let them talk about me like that!"

"Little bird-"

"Don't call me that!" she screeched. "Don't talk to me like that! You disgust me! Go away!"

"No."

"You know how humiliating it is to have this whispered throughout the keep? Of course you don't! You just let those vile creatures talk about me like some common whore to fondle themselves over! I would never let anyone talk about you in a degrading manner! But you let them go on like you enjoy it! Do you, Hound? Do you enjoy knowing how low it makes me feel?! Should I parade myself naked so that you can share what you have with the world?! Where is your love that you say you have for me now!" Sandor moved to touch her and she smacked him again. "Don't you dare touch me!"

Her cheeks were stained from the residue of tears streaming down her pale, angry face. She struggled against him but he grabbed her face and neck and pressed his lips to hers in a fierce attempt to stop the crying.

"You think I enjoyed hearing that?" he growled into her mouth. His own anger seeped through, making his movements harsh and rough against her delicate skin. "Huh? You think I like knowing I can't say anything to defend your honor? I fucking _hate_ it. I wanted nothing more than to cut out their hearts and feed it to the fucking rats! But I stayed my hand for a reason. I did it for us - I did it for you. Can you not see that! Our heads would be on spikes if that piece of shit suspected anything."

The way the words settled on her lips as she struggled exhilarated her. But his manner was controlled, vicious to the point she was frightened he would crush her skull should he wish it. The intensity of their emotions was amplified only by the frustration they were both experiencing.

"I will kill him, Sansa," Sandor promised. "I swear it by whatever gods there are that I will make him suffer for everything he has put you through. I will bring his fucking corpse to the dogs and let them eat it. The whole fucking family. And when I'm done with him, I will butcher every fucking person who has done you wrong."

Sansa was whimpering against his lips from the exhaustive fight but her tears refused to stop running over. But his promise rang through her ears like a river of honey.

"And don't _ever_ say that I don't love you," he seethed. "Don't even think it. I would burn the fucking world for you if you asked me to."

Sansa looked deep in his eyes as another tear escaped. "I know." Her breath came out ragged, her voice hoarse from the crying.

His iron grip loosened and he released her and crushed his lips against hers for the second time, only this was a true kiss. Passionate, desperate, lustful - and the most seductive ingredient of all: forbidden. Neither cared that they had past the point for him to let her go. There was too much heat for them to care about delicacy.

He backed them against the wall and picked her up. She gasped at the contact of his hard cock pressed against her stomach. It was sending pulses of desire through her and she realized she wanted more. Her legs wrapped around his waist on their own accord and without thinking, her hips lowered themselves against the hardness and back up, giving her shivers of pure lust. The groan he made made her smile as he tore through the pin that held her dress together in the front. He broke the strings that held her corset together and buried his face in her chest while her hands ran through his hair. Feeling his skin against hers made her feel wanton and sexual. As he held her by the rear, he began to grind her against him by moving her hips back and forth, up and down. The room filled with moans and gasps from both. His breath against her breast as he sucked on it gave her goosebumps and her legs wrapped themselves even tighter so that the only thing separating them were her undergarments and his pants. But Sandor quickly tired of them and he reached down between their bodies.

Sansa saw him grin. "What?"

"You're soaking wet." Her blue eyes darkened as he pushed a finger insider her, hitting the right spot. She bit her lip in pleasure and he smirked. "You're killing me, little bird."

"Do it again," she moaned. She pressed her hips against his finger but found it gone. "Sandor," she gasped. "Please."

He pulled the undergarment away and tried to slide it down her legs, watching her skin gather bumps. "This fucking thing is in the way."

"Then get rid of it."

He snorted. "Little bird is demanding."

"Sandor, gods please do something!"

"Oh, it's not the gods doing this," he said arrogantly. "It's just me." With that he pulled on the strings that held his pants closed and out sprung his cock. He rubbed it against her entrance and she jerked at the sensation.

"Sandor, we can't," she breathed. But it felt _sooo_ good that and a voice in her head screamed that something like this couldn't be wrong.

"I know," he managed to say. Their hips disagreed as they met each other again, bringing them only a shove away from consummating their feelings. But somehow he kept himself in check.

Sansa's instincts told her to move and she did. It was just like before except the sensation was much more exciting. He pushed her hips where he wanted them to go and before long both were panting with a light sweat on their skin. She could feel the tip of him moving up and it made her want more. The stone wall scraped against her dress and her undergarment was restricting their movements but she didn't care. Something was building up inside her and it was telling her to move faster. So she did. He let out a guttural sound when she sped up and matched her. The skin contact was pushing her closer to a wave that threatened to overtake her senses but she was scared.

Sandor knew what was happening. It was written all over her face. He wasn't going to last much longer no matter how much he thought of non sexual things. Her lips, her body, her hair. It was all too much to handle at the moment. He needed her to come and come now. He reached down and pressed that sweet spot, making her tip over the edge. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp and her face contorted as the pleasure swept over her. He could feel her climax on his raging cock, which finally got its own release. Sansa's body jerked as she came down from the feeling and Sandor was spent but he kept a tight hold on her and let them both ride out the pleasure.

"Wow," she gasped. Is that what Shae had been trying to teach her?

"Yeah," Sandor sighed.

"Is that always what happens?"

He smiled. "With me, yes. Are you all right?"

"I'm not sure." Her face was flushed but glowing until she had a moment of panic. "Did we-"

"No. You're still a maid, I promise."

Relief flooded her features. "What was this then?"

"I have no idea," he said bluntly. "I've never done that before."

"Really?" Sansa couldn't hide her shock.

"Really."

Sansa smiled widely. "It's a first for both of us then."

Sandor smiled back. "I guess it is."

"It's strange. I thought I would feel different."

"You're still a virgin, Sansa." He pushed a piece of hair behind her ear before caressing her cheek. "It won't feel the same once your maidenhead is broken and you get used to it."

"How is it different?"

"I don't know. I'm not a bloody woman."

Sansa smacked his chest playfully before playing with a patch of chest hair. "I'm sorry for doubting you."

"I'm sorry for not defending you."

"No, you were right. You're only the man who guards me. It would look suspicious if you showed attachment."

"One day I'll be able to. You'll have nowhere to hide from me then."

Sansa clicked her tongue. "I shall never want to part from you. I would welcome death first."

"Don't say that." His voice dropped and he sounded sad.

"Why ever not? You have said the same."

"The world is too full of men like me. It needs purity, beauty to balance out the ugly."

"You're not ugly," she said vehemently. "I shall whip you if you talk like that."

He grinned and lowered her to the floor. "Whipping," he said as he kissed her lips. "Is for when you are ready for all of me."

Sansa's grin cut off when an urgent knocking on her door echoed through the room.

"Who is it?" she asked. Her cheeks turned bright red when Sandor backed away from her, his cock still hanging out. He tucked it in to his pants with a cheeky smirk as she watched in awe.

"It's Shae. Let me in."

"Just one moment," Sansa said trying to stifle a giggle. She was behaving shamelessly. Her septa would be so upset.

Sandor dipped a cloth in the water basin before handing it to her. "Wipe yourself."

She hadn't even noticed the sticky substance on her legs. Another blush encompassed her chest and face. "Let her in."

Shae burst through the door and stopped abruptly. Her eyes went straight to Sansa wiping off her inner thighs while Sandor stood across the room, tucking his shirt in and lacing up his pants. "Milady," she warned.

"Relax," Sandor cut in. "She's still herself."

Shae tsked at Sansa trying to lace up her corset again. "Here. Let me. Hound, the king has been looking for you."

"Duty calls," he grumbled. He winked at Sansa before heading out.

"Has he taken your maidenhead?" Shae snipped.

"No. We had an argument."

Shae narrowed her eyes. "I'm sure. Come on, let's get you dressed. The king has asked for you as well."

"Joffrey asked for me?" Sansa's breath hitched in her throat. "Have I done something wrong?"

"I don't think so. He has also asked for Lord Tyrion."

"That's strange." Shae put her dress back together and smoothed out her hair. "Are you sure I've done nothing wrong?"

"We shall see soon. Come."

Sansa walked through the door with Tyrion and saw the large frame of a Clegane in the middle of a circle. Her brow furrowed and she looked to the man next to her for an answer. But Tyrion was just as lost as she.

"Sansa," Joffrey called. "Sit here."

He patted the seat next to him in an almost lovingly way. It reminded her of when they were first getting to know each other. Now his sweet nature was sending alarm bells through her body. "Your Grace." She bowed and took her seat. Tyrion took his on the opposite side. As Joffrey talked, she could see Sandor tensing. His muscles contracted under his shirt and his jaw was clenched.

"Bring her in!" Joffrey commanded.

Sansa's breath hitched when Shae was thrust into the middle of the circle. She too looked skittish. 'No,' she thought. When Joffrey gave the command for Sandor to strip Shae naked, Sansa started to protest but Tyrion caught her eye. He shook his head ever so slightly.

"My dear nephew," Tyrion said thinly. "What is the meaning of this?"

"It's a little party I wanted to have. You see, the castle has been buzzing with the rumor of my dog's lover. Turns out it's this servant who works for Sansa. Isn't that interesting?"

"Very," Tyrion clipped. "Lady Sansa should not be subjected to this. Send her away."

"She will be subjected to anything I want," Joffrey snapped. "I want her to see my dog turn her servant into his bitch." He turned his worm face to Sansa. "I want her to see what can happen if she thinks she is out of my sights." He turned his attention to Sandor. "Continue."

Sansa and Sandor locked eyes for a quick moment before he turned to Shae.

"Just do it," she muttered tightly.

Sandor steeled his nerves. His senses were all tangled up with each other and he knew the same was happening with Shae. When they had made their agreement, neither knew what could happen but decided it was worth the risk. This was the price. He tried to not focus on the redhead sitting as still as stone not ten feet away. Joffrey had wanted everyone to get a good view of what was about to happen.

Shae closed her eyes when he slid into her but she couldn't help the moan that tore from her throat. He clasped his hand over her mouth so that no one could hear her. She had been with Tyrion for so long that she had forgotten how big a man could be. Despite her attempt to be indifferent, she could feel herself getting a twisted pleasure from the man on top of her. He wasn't gentle. There was no love. But his calloused hands, rough demeanor, and low grunts began to emphasize his thrusts.

"Harder," Joffrey said with a thick voice.

Sandor tried to think of everything he wanted to do to Sansa to keep himself going but the fact was that Shae could take him. This was a girl who obviously missed being pounded into the ground which brought out the animalistic nature in him. His eyes flickered up to the three people sitting in front of him: Tyrion had a cold look, Joffrey's face was as though he had just seen his first kitten die and Sansa…She was trying to hide her emotions but it was useless. A tear fell down her cheek and she was biting her lip so hard that blood began to line her lips. Her knuckles were white as her hands grasped the chair's handles. But she looked away and then back at him. When he saw blue eyes again, they were darker. Something had resolved inside her.

He had known it might come to this - they all did. But the reality that it was actually occurring was a surreal experience. Sandor flipped Shae over so that she was on all fours and he thrust into her so hard he was sure she would bruise. But to both their horror, the experience was pleasurable. He didn't want it to be; neither did she. That didn't change the fact that it was. And both Tyrion and Sansa could see it. He thought about Sansa's hunger for him earlier that day and how it felt to almost have her. It was incredibly painful to not take her like he was doing to Shae. It seems that his body was making up for that now.

"Harder," Joffrey seethed.

Sandor obeyed and unleashed his rage through his body. Everyone and everything grew dull around him and he focused only on the task before him. He grabbed Shae's hair and pulled, eliciting a cry from the woman. The walls inside her welcomed the crude behavior and they clenched against him. It drove him over the edge and he climaxed roughly. He didn't know if Shae had; he didn't care. He just wanted out of her. The tension was suffocating him. He withdrew and cast her away from him with a callous shove.

Joffrey look like he was the one who just came. His thin lips parted and he grinned before clapping. "Well done, dog! Look at her! She can't even move!" Sandor and Shae stood while he looked at the Hound in wonder.

He stood there as people shoved past him and Shae, eager to talk about what they had seen. Sandor could see Sansa staring at the ground. Her face was hardened as she caught his gaze. She stood behind the king as they walked up.

Joffrey approached with a wide smile. "Well done, dog. You have your bitch I suppose. I won't kill her…today." He looked back at Sansa and then back at Sandor. "Maybe next time you can have bitch's master. Would you like that?"

"I couldn't say," he replied with a thin voice.

"I would. I would like to see what a dog can do to a wolf." The king leered at Sansa before leaving the pair to stare at each other.

The room had emptied save for them. Tully eyes met gray ones yet no one spoke. What could they say? Sandor was still heaving from the exertion of his actions, making his breath the only noise between them.

Sandor opened his mouth but before a word left it, she slinked out of the room.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Sandor marched to his room and collapsed on the bed. What a fucked up day this had become. He saw a pitcher of wine on his table and tried to pour a cup but found his hand was shaking. In a fit of anger he threw it against the wall as hard as he could. He turned around and punched the wall, breaking off some of the plaster. He did it again. The pain shot through his hand but it overtook the shame so he kept doing it.

A knock had him barking a vicious "Leave me be!"

"Clegane," Tyrion's voice chimed. "Let me in."

"Get the fuck out of my doorway, imp!"

"Let me in. You owe me that." Sandor heaved a heavy sigh. The door opened and there stood Tyrion. He had two jars of wine and held them up. "Care for some?"

"What do you want?" Sandor said in a harsh voice.

"I thought you would drink yourself into a stupor," the dwarf remarked as his eyes settled on the remnants of a former wine jug. "But I see that's not the case."

"Clearly." He grasped the jar and took a deep drink.

"It's not your fault," Tyrion put out. "It was the price we all knew could happen."

"I know that," Sandor sighed. He was exhausted. "I keep trying to tell myself that it makes it okay."

"Does it?"

"What do you think?"

"I'm not thinking anything. But I know I'm not angry. And I don't think Sansa is either."

"You should have seen the way she looked at me. It made me sick."

"I know. It was difficult for us to watch."

"I would have thought you would hate my guts for this."

Tyrion sniffed the air and stretched his neck. "No. You're not the one I hate. You did what you had to. As did Shae."

"So why aren't you with her?"

"I think," Tyrion mused darkly, "she enjoyed it."

Sandor swallowed carefully and looked deep into his cup. He didn't want to talk about this. Not now, not ever. He played with his cup by swishing the wine around. "Things are going to change."

"Yes," Tyrion muttered. "I don't believe things will ever be the same after this."

"Maybe it's for the best. Sansa will hate me and I won't have to worry about her attending in case that little shit decides he wants a repeat."

"Oh, he'll want a second one. My nephew has a ferocious appetite when it comes to these things I'm afraid."

"What about you? Are you going to watch?"

"Of course not. Maybe I can pretend to do something important. That's if my father doesn't hear of this."

"I know the boy, Tyrion. He'll make it ten times worse next time."

"Then we must not let there be a next time," he said sharply. "I'll have Varys spread a rumor about how unsatisfactory your relationship had become or something. After that, we can have things settle down and move on from this."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa managed to make down the hall with dignity but once a dark corner came in to view she took the opportunity to disappear. Down the flight of stairs she fled until she had to use her hands to guide her through. What was she thinking coming down here? The Keep was far too large to walk around by herself in. The only hallways she knew always had a lit torch in them to light the way.

The air was still. It was quiet, which was disconcerting after what had just occurred. She shook her head and felt the wall against her back as she took a break. No one was around and even if they were, it was pitch black. Tears that had threatened to fall finally came out with a vengeance as she sunk to the floor. Her knees brought themselves to her chest and she snugged them closer for warmth. She buried her head on them and cried. She hated Joffrey with every muscle in her being. What had she ever done to make I'm hate her so much? And watching Shae and Sandor together made her sick, which is exactly what Joffrey had wanted.

Flashes of Shae's face contorting into utter gratification from his thrusts toyed with her own desires and she had to grip the handles of her chair to contain herself. It was as though two sides of her were at war: one who was desperate to hold on to the naivety and innocence she had when she first came to King's Landing; the other held a darker, more sensual side that liked being pushed against the wall and kissed as if there was no tomorrow.

Footsteps shuffled along the stairs she had just come down and a soft light bouncing on the walls made her stop crying. The steps were careless, easy going. That meant whoever it was didn't think she was down here. As they got closer, Sansa stood and called out.

His eyes showed his confusion but he only grinned. "You trying to give me a fright staying down here in the dark, girl?"

His cheerful demeanor made her try and smile but failed. "I'm sorry."

"I was just teasing," he grinned. "Saves me a trip, really." He noticed the sad look in her eyes. "What's this?"

"It's nothing. I - I just had a very hard day today."

"Is it because your Hound fucked that whore?" he said casually. He took her arm and guided her deeper into the darkness.

"How do you know that?"

"Those Lannister shits can't keep their mouths shut for a second," he replied. They walked a little bit before he asked, "So how was it?"

"It was - I - Horrible."

"That's not what those lads are saying," he snickered. He remembered who he was talking to and swallowed hard. "I didn't mean-"

"I'm sure to them it was glorious or something of that sort but it was torture for me."

Bronn sensed that she wasn't being entirely truthful and stopped. His eyes examined her closely. "You're lying."

"I beg your pardon?" Sansa was insulted and slightly confused. "I am a lady, ser."

"That doesn't mean you can't have your own desires."

"This is not polite conversation, Ser Bronn."

"I ain't no ser, not really. You can tell me. I won't say anything. I don't belong to the Lannisters - well, the stupid ones anyway."

"Tell you what?"

He lowered his face to hers and gave her a knowing smile. "That you enjoyed it."

**A/N:** So how much do y'all love me? (Excluding this chapter if you didn't like it.) Do me a favor and go on youtube. Search reeseslightning11. When you get on the channel, which is mine btw, check out the "about me" and click on the link I put there. Because I don't just write fan fiction my friends. Oh no; I do it for a living. And how much food I buy depends entirely on my fanbase, likes, and such. It would be like if fanfiction paid me for every view, follower, and review I get on my stories. So help me buy some spaghettios! Please:) And don't hesitate to inbox me about artwork or stuff like that y'all have done. I get messages about that and I love looking at them! I especially love IAMSEVERUSSNAPE's stuff.


	15. They Think I'm Weak

**A/N:** So how about that Red Wedding? Pretty intense! Can't wait to start writing for that little gem lol.

I knew the last chapter was going to be a hot topic lol. But I write as the story takes me and it's taken me down this route. If you don't agree, that's cool. There are plenty of warm, fluffy stories out there:) Fortunately, it seems that most readers know how truly sick Joffrey is and how tame the show makes him in comparison to the books. It was all for a very specific purpose I assure you; but I really don't want to ruin what's in store later on.

15: They Think I'm Weak

Sansa glared across the fire at Bronn. "Don't ever say that to me again," she warned. Her ferocity surprised her; Bronn only relaxed and smiled.

"I'm only making sure, lass."

"Sure of what?" she bit.

"That you're not one of them."

"Never."

"Don't make a promise you can't, especially to yourself." He straightened his form and led Sansa further into the dark hallway.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." They didn't speak for a few minutes until he spoke up again. "You know why the king did that don't you?"

"Because he has no honor."

"You northerners and your honor. Is that all you think people do things for - because they either lack honor or they don't?"

"Real men have it."

"Like your father you mean," he finished for her. "And look what happened." He stopped and turned to her. "Honor has no place here. You should know that by now."

"Yet you're helping me."

"I like ya and I respect him. You don't have to have honor for that to happen. Don't mix them up or you'll pay the price."

Sansa swallowed hard. "Why did the king do it?"

"Because he thought it would make you squirm." He lowered his face again so that he could see her better. "And you did. Now he knows what he should do to get a reaction from ya."

"And what about Tyrion?"

"Same thing if I had to guess. That boy despises his uncle and desires you in the worst way. If there's a way he can hurt you, he'll find it and use it until you can't take no more."

"What made him so evil?" Sansa asked herself. "Will he ever stop hating me?"

"There's no cure for being a cunt," Bronn replied matter of factly.

Although Sansa cringed at the language, she couldn't deny that particular truth. "Are we almost there?"

Bronn put the torch up in the air. "Aye, we're here. Just a few more steps I reckon."

It was indeed only a few; a door opened before Sansa even saw it.

"Ah," Varys cooed. "Lady Sansa, do come in."

Sansa was thoroughly confused. "Lord Varys?" She was ushered into a small, dark room. She was expecting it smell moldy or old but instead found it to be filled with perfume. "What is going on?"

"Don't be frightened, my dear. Thank you, Ser Bronn. I shall take it from here."

Bronn bowed out with a wink to Sansa and Varys closed the door softly.

"Would you like something to drink, my lady?"

"No. Lord Varys, please tell me what is going on."

"I am sorry for the secrecy, my lady but I thought it best considering what has happened tonight."

"You know about that too?"

Varys gave her a sorrowful look. "Everyone does; if they don't, they will by this time tomorrow. That is how it works in the Keep."

"I'm so embarrassed."

"Why? It wasn't you who was forced to lay with the Hound."

"I was there."

Varys looked alarmed, which made Sansa uncomfortable in every way. "You were?"

"Yes. Did you not know that?"

"No." He sounded disconcerted.

"Lord Varys," Sansa remarked to break the silence. "Why am I here?"

"I know about your engagement to the Tyrells. And if I do, that means Lord Baelish does as well."

That's what this was about? Sansa shook her head. "Is that a bad thing?"

"I wouldn't trust him, Lady Sansa."

"Why ever not? He has never harmed me; on the contrary, he has treated me kindly, which is more than I can say for most."

"He may have ulterior motives."

"I don't understand."

"You know how he felt about your mother I presume?"

"Of course. But he does not think of me that way. I am more of a daughter to him than a wife."

"Littlefinger has wanted many things over the years, but never a daughter."

"Then what do you think he wants with me?"

xxxxxxxxxxxx

After what felt like forever Sandor was left alone. He could barely see the memory but the humiliation was enough to convince that what happened was real. He felt empty. Sansa's face continued to harass him. All he could see was her hurt and disgust. A wine cup beckoned him and he answered the call.

Sleep threatened to overtake him as he tried hard to forget the day. The only moment that he cherished was that morning when he got Sansa all to himself. He smiled as her face came into view. The way her skin glowed after he brought her to her very first climax. It was an honor he would never forget and never thought he would have. It was her first sexual experience and knowing, she was probably concerned that she was with child or something of the sort. Had it been a normal day, Shae would help her cope with what occurred; but thanks to Joffrey, things were going to be tricky amongst the four of them.

His eyes grew heavier by the second and finally, he succumbed.

_The wind was making a bird struggle. He found that odd - the bird, not the wind. It was nothing he had seen before. The flower the tiny bird was trying to suckle on had no honey yet still it stayed. It's petals turned old and dry. It broke from its stem and blew away, too fast for the bird to catch. Sandor looked closer to see the bird still flying in the same spot as if it was waiting for the flower to return. The light became dark; morning turned to night yet still the bird stayed. The days passed quickly. Other flowers wilted and died around the tiny bird but it paid no attention to them. It was only when a new flower bloomed from the same stem - fresh and full of honey - that the bird finally moved. Still it provided no suckle. The bird poked until the flower bled. Before it could heal, the flower drowned in its own blood. Sandor sank to his knees as the bird began to swim in the lake of blood. His hands reached for the limp petals, heartbroken that something so beautiful could be so easily destroyed. Underneath the blood came thorns that pricked him till his callouses softened and his skin broke. But when his blood met the flower's it turned to honey. His wounds began to heal and the flower regained its life. It blew from his hand into the air. The bird began to chase it but Sandor caught it and crushed the animal in his large hand. The bird poked and bit him but it could not get away. Sandor squeezed until the bird's body crunched together; he released it and fell down dead. The flower returned and settled where the bird had been. _

_"Don't crush it," Sansa said gently. His head jerked to the right and saw her leaning into him. "You'll ruin the effect."_

_"What effect?"_

_"See how the blood and honey mix? It's beautiful in a strange way." Indeed it was beautiful - grotesquely so but it was. "Your hand!"_

_Sandor turned his palm over and saw the little pecks that the bird made had turned into a burn, eating away at the flesh. The pain hit rapidly and he dropped the flower. The moment it touched the ground, Sansa began to disappear. "No," he pleaded. He tried desperately to grasp any part of her body but it was nothing but air. "Don't leave me."_

_"It's you who is leaving me," she replied with a sad voice. _

Sandor opened his eyes with a jerk. He didn't know if it was morning or night; it didn't matter he supposed. Sansa would hate him. Hells, he hated himself. If he kept a mirror he wouldn't have been able to look at himself - not that he ever did anyway. Sansa though, she would stare all day to make sure that every hair, every detail was in place. The thought brought a wry smile to his face. Perhaps that would keep him going through the day.

He put on a shirt and changed his pants before heading down to the kitchens. His stomach was growling louder than those wolves the Starks had back in Winterfell. He looked out a passing window and noticed the sun wasn't fully up yet but he could see its rays peeking through. Everyone would be up soon. He walked into the kitchens and stopped in his tracks. Sansa of all people was talking to the cook.

"The king's dog is hungry then," the cook teased as she saw him in the doorway.

Sansa didn't turn her head but her body tensed.

"Not unless the lady wants to be alone," he replied.

"The lady doesn't care," Sansa said with her back turned. "You may eat wherever you like."

Sandor grabbed a piece of meat cooling by the hearth. He didn't bother with a plate like Sansa.

"Beg your pardon, milady," the cook said. "My assistants need to be woken."

Sansa dismissed her with a weak smile. "By all means. I'll be okay here. The Hound will scare any of the ghosts should they come calling."

The pair watched the old lady walk ungracefully out of the stoned room. Silence settled between them like a heavy weight.

"What bring you down here?" he asked finally.

"I couldn't sleep. You?"

"Bad dream."

For some reason that caught Sansa's attention. She finally turned to face him and saw the disturbance on his countenance. "What happened?"

"Is this what you really want to talk about?" he probed gently.

Her eyes went down to her hands. "I don't want to talk about that; not yet."

"Good. You know I hate talking."

Sansa stifled a laugh. It eased the tension. "Would you like a lemon cake?"

"I thought they didn't make these." He picked the cake from her hand and sniffed it.

"They don't usually. Margaery had them bake some for me."

"That girl sure does know how to make friends."

"_That girl_ has been a friend to me - something I find lacking lately."

"You're right," he conceded. "I shouldn't try to take that away from you. I've done enough of that."

Her blue eyes blinked back a tear. "As have I, I think."

"What?" he snorted. The sound echoed through the stone walls.

"It's true. But we shouldn't say anything here. If we both get through the day, we can talk later."

He nodded in agreement. "You're not angry then?"

"I said we can talk later," she snapped quietly. "Please don't make me regret that decision."

"Okay." Another pregnant silence. "Why can't you sleep?"

Sansa took a deep breath and sighed. "I don't know."

"Is it because…"

"No," she shook her head. "It's something else. I can't place my finger on it though."

Sandor watched her bite into the tiny cake. "Maybe you can a sleeping draught."

"I'll get some soon." She could see his worry but was confused on how to proceed further. They had shared something intense and intimate the day before. It should have brought them closer but instead it was a source of pain and made her want to push him away. "I should go. Shae is probably waiting for me."

"Shae?"

"Yes. That's something we'll talk about later too," she said quietly.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When the cook returned with a full kitchen in tow, Sansa took her leave. Being around Sandor sent a plethora of feelings through her both good and bad. His face when she told him about Shae was priceless though and they still had chemistry, maybe even more than before.

The door to her room opened quietly and she stepped through. Shae was in the bathing room putting roses in the water. The handmaid hadn't seen her until Sansa was in the doorway. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's your room." Shae said in a formal tone. "You may startle me all you like."

"Shae," Sansa called. "Please sit. We have to talk."

The brunette looked like she wanted to disappear. "If you want to."

"I think it's important that we do. You're not going anywhere now that the king thinks you and Sandor are lovers nor I since he knows that I find that kind of display disgusting. I would rather have it be a relationship based on truth and clarity instead of awkward moments. That would serve neither of us very well."

Shae looked her over and headed straight for the door. With a hard lock, she made sure the door was sealed before joining Sansa. "Okay."

The young redhead took a seat and made room for Shae. The two sat for some time before Sansa spoke first.

"I know you think I hate you."

"Don't you? I would if I were in your position."

"You aren't in my position," Sansa pointed out. "And I would be grateful if you and Sandor stopped trying to make assumptions on how you think I feel."

"And what might that be?"

Sansa had to think about that. "I'm not quite sure. But I don't want it to be hate. That's what I see the queen and the rest of the Lannisters do when something they don't like happens. I'm determined to not be like that. I may hate what happened, but I don't hate you. I've learned the difference between them."

"I don't know what to say," Shae responded.

"There's only one thing I want to know. Tell me the truth, please."

Shae nodded. "Of course."

"Do you have feelings for him?"

"No." Her tone indicated like she had been insulted. "Even if I did, he has no regard for me; it is only you he cares about." She took a deep breath. "Now, are you going to make use of this water or no?"

Sansa smiled cautiously. She stood and let Shae help her out of her nightclothes before stepping in to the steaming water. It almost burned her skin but she welcomed the feeling. It distracted her from her thoughts. She slid under the liquid slowly, letting the warmth seep into her skin. Below the surface there was only her; no Sandor and Shae debacle, no Joffrey or Lannisters - only herself. Arya began to penetrate her peace as memories of their time together grew more prominent. It was the time just after they arrived at King's Landing. Arya was stabbing the table at breakfast; she and Sansa were arguing over who was at fault for Mycah's death. At the time Sansa didn't understand why her sister was so upset. She had barely known the butcher's boy! Sansa had said it was Sandor who killed the child but Arya vehemently argued that he only did as he was told.

"He does what Joffrey commands him to," she had declared.

Joffrey faded into view, flushing out her sister. His smug face didn't bother to try and mask the elation he felt as Ilyn Payne swung her father's sword. Then it was her Septa, telling her to run as the Lannister soldiers came for her; next came Cersei's satisfaction when Sansa told her about her father's plans. Suddenly, she was in the throne room, watching as her fellow northmen were slaughtered. Then she saw herself standing on the embattlement walking toward Joffrey. She was so close to ending him. But a hand caught her shoulder. Then it was her and Sandor in the bathing room just as they were the day before. This time though she was watching herself. The same happened when the memory shifted to the king's room; she could see everything as though she were a spectator: Sandor was gritting his teeth and looked miserable; Shae had her eyes shut and held no real expression while Sansa's hands were digging into the armchairs. Tyrion looked as disgusted as she did. When Sandor was done, he pushed the brunette away like she was a plague ridden cat. Joffrey was gleeful.

But then her mind was no longer her own. Someone was in there with her. Flashes of a green field, a giant and other strangers started to overlap. The control was no longer hers.

Shae's hands brought her out of the tub. "My lady!"

Sansa coughed hard as water came out of her lungs. She was blinded for a few moments and it panicked her. "Shae!" she cried. Her arms searched for the maid and found her.

"It's okay," Shae soothed. She wrapped a towel around the frightened girl. Sansa was shaking in her arms. "What happened?"

"I couldn't see," she screeched.

Shae furrowed her brow. "How are you now?"

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

Sansa nodded, still shaky. "Yes. I think I just need a moment alone."

"I don't want to leave you alone."

"Please. I need a moment."

Shae kept her brow knitted. Finally she acquiesced. "I'll be just outside."

The stones beneath Sansa chilled her since ll the warmth from the water had evaporated. She waited until Shae left before taking a sharp breath. Her skin held goosebumps and she felt nauseous to the point where standing up was difficult. Inside, her stomach was doing flips and her head swam. Heat overcame her despite the cool room. She laid against the floor for relief against the dizziness. A sob let out as she curled into herself; another followed shortly. When she wiped the tears away, she found herself still empty - relieved but empty.

She had so many questions about so many things yet there was no one she could talk to about them. It was incredibly frustrating. The only one even remotely interested in her well being was Margaery but talking to her about this was out of the question. She couldn't begin to understand a relationship that Sandor and Sansa had. Margaery wasn't interested in relationships; the game of thrones was her husband. Being around Shae would hard for a long time but at least Sansa could trust in the knowledge that she wasn't under Cersei's thumb. And Sandor…What about him? He was the first person to make her see the world. His touch, his lips, his support had carried her through everything. He saved her life more times than she probably realized. Would she now abandon him for trying to do it again because she didn't like the method? It was clear he hadn't either. There was no need to punish him since he no doubt would do that himself.

"Oh mother," Sansa said to the air. "I wish you were here."

Seeing her mother interact with Sandor would be a sight she would love to see.

"My lady," Shae said through the door. "The royal dressmaker is here."

For the first time in hours, Sansa felt like herself. "I'll be right out." She quickly dried herself and put on a robe. When she emerged, Shae was holding the dress. But she was slightly disappointed. "It's rather plain."

Shae helped her put the dress on. "But you are not the bride," she replied slyly.

"Of course. It's Margaery's day. I'll get my chance when I marry Willas Tyrell."

Shae paused briefly at the words. "You've decided to take their offer then?"

"I have," Sansa said with confidence. "It's best for everyone if I do. It can end the war, save my family, and maybe even reunite us. I can't deny Robb and his men that opportunity."

Before Shae could answer, there was a knock.

"Come in," Sansa called.

"My lady," Tyrion replied. He saw she was getting dressed and turned to leave. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm just trying on this dress for the king's wedding."

Tyrion tried to get her alone, which confused her. What did he have against Shae? "It's all right," she assured.

The Lannister looked so uncomfortable that Sansa began to feel the same way.

"This…is awkward," he said in a small voice.

Both she and Shae showed their confusion.

"My lord?" Sansa remarked.

"I am truly sorry to tell you this - in fact if it were up to me, I wouldn't have to all - but your engagement to Willas Tyrell has been called off."

Sansa blinked, not wanting to believe the statement. "Wh- What? No," she scoffed. "No, that's not true. The Tyrells - they said I would marry him."

"I'm afraid things have changed. You will be married, just not to him."

"Then who to?"

Tyrion glanced at Shae, who was quicker on the uptake than the Stark. "Me."

"If this is a joke, I admit that I do not find it funny."

"It is a joke Lady Sansa to everyone except my father. Despite my best efforts to change his mind, he assures me that this will happen."

"And if I refuse?"

"I hate to state this but you don't have a choice; nor do I for that matter." He mumbled the last part but Shae heard it.

Sansa's lip began to quiver gently. A tear came to her eyes and she felt sick. "Excuse me." She ran to her chamber pot and heaved everything in her stomach. It was an hour before she was calm enough to come out. Shae handed her a wet cloth and a cup of wine.

"Lord Tyrion had his servant bring it. He thought you would need it."

Sansa noticed she was crying as well. "Why are you upset?"

"I'm sad for you." Shae even thought that sounded pathetic; though there was some truth to it.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sandor was drinking. Again. It was his eighth jar of wine and so far all he had accomplished was learning how to direct his piss into the hole of a tree. He walked behind the king all day, which suited him since he wasn't in the mood to talk or even look at anyone. He desperately wanted to beat something into a bloody pulp.

The tavern had slowly built up a crowd yet no one paid him attention. That was until Osmund Kettleblack saw him.

"There he is, boys!" the hooked nose man shouted. "All hail the Hound. A man who fucks likes he lives: hard and fast!"

Sandor rolled his eyes at the boisterous men tipping their cups to him. "Fuck off, Kettleblack."

"What's the hostility for?" he questioned. "Why, all the kingsguards wished they could get orders like that! Was she loose? That's it, isn't it? I don't blame ya. Now, her lady on the other hand should have a nice tight hole for the king to fuck."

Without preamble Sandor grabbed his fellow kingsguard by the throat and squeezed until the man's eyes rolled back. "You should learn when to keep that mouth shut, Osmund." Sandor threw the man away like a piece of paper. Osmund Kettleblack coughed violently. "Next time I hear you talk, I'll take your tongue and shove it so far up your ass you wouldn't be able to shit it out."

"What the hells is wrong with you?" Osmund challenged.

Sandor sulked back to his table and drank the rest of his wine skin. He didn't even bother to pay for it as the tavern keeper was too frightened to ask for the money.

"I'll get you for this, Clegane!"

"Good luck with that," Sandor mumbled to himself.

The Keep looked as dismal as ever when he entered it. The hollow sound of his footsteps through the hallway followed him every second. On a whim, he turned left and walked into the empty throne room. There in front of him was the ugly iron throne. A loud scoff escaped as he stepped closer. 'So many deaths for such an ugly thing,' he thought. Often he had thought about what was going through the Targaryen king's mind when he ordered it too look like this.

Since his hands were calloused, he could barely feel the sharp edges poking at him. He turned around to look at the large room from this angle. He didn't think it would look so different.

"It's tempting, isn't it?"

Sandor didn't bother to move his head. "What do you want, Varys?"

"Nothing, really. Just taking a walk."

"I doubt that."

"The whole castle is buzzing with what happened yesterday."

"I'm sure it is."

Varys tipped his head. "Are you that indifferent toward the gossip? I know you aren't one for it normally but this was hardly normal."

"There's nothing normal about King's Landing," Sandor sneered.

Varys nodded his agreement as he walked around to stand next to the giant man. "Do you remember the Mad King, how he used to sit in here in the late hours?"

"Of course."

"It was a habit with him," Varys sighed. "Staying up and wandering the halls. As his mind grew wilder so did his paranoia. He was sure that there were assassins in the walls; his council scheming to kill him. Many times he would interrupt meetings with cries of a Faceless Man chasing him or his wine poisoned."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about a man who was so obsessed with power that it consumed him. He was threatened by things he thought were harmful when in fact they held no threat; meanwhile, the people he thought to be on his side were plotting against him. I tried to warn him when Lord Tywin was at the gates to not let him in. You see, I knew which side they had chosen. But my advice was deemed less important than Maester Pycelle's."

"Your point?"

"If the king had listened to me, he would still be alive. Think on it carefully, Clegane. You'll see the truth in it."

With that, the Spider slipped silently back into the shadows. Sandor just blinked. He hated games; Varys spoke only in the game language. Talking to him was like collecting random puzzle pieces and forcing them to fit together. It was beyond irritating, especially today.

"Seven hells," he cursed. This day needed to be over. He made his way back to his room slowly, trying to keep his balance.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa couldn't sit still. She had come to Sandor's room an hour ago and he still wasn't back yet. Back and forth she paced until she was sure the ground was worn out.

Today had been taxing to say the least. She for one was ready to get it over with; but first she needed to get something off her chest. Sleep would never come if she didn't, that much she knew. He needed to hear about her engagement to Tyrion. Once she had finished crying, Sansa went to say goodbye to Littlefinger, who had departed that afternoon for the Vale. Another flood of fear and regret overcame her and she broke down again. It was a missed opportunity she had given up and now she was condemned to a life as a Lannister.

Shae had returned to the Keep so that she could have time to herself. The only thing Sansa wanted though was to reverse time and correct all the mistakes she had made. Since that was impossible, her only option was to seek him out. Was she still upset? Yes; that hadn't changed at all. But now she had far worse things happening. She needed to sort her priorities out if there was any chance of retaining some self esteem. Otherwise she would lose her mind.

It struck her how bare the room was. No sense of comfort, family, or even warmth; it was a stark contrast to the man she knew. A chill filled the emptiness making her shiver. The door swung open and hit the wall with a thud. Startled, she turned and saw Sandor's figure stagger into the room. He threw himself on the bed with a loud groan. The wine jar swung wildly when his arm relaxed.

"So you're drinking again?" she said disturbed. His reaction matched hers only a few moments ago. "Sorry to sneak in. I didn't know if you would open the door."

Sandor's eyes appraised her carefully. "Not tonight, Sansa."

"You might want to sober up for this," she said forcefully.

"Why would I want to be sober when you tell me that you want nothing more to do with me?" he growled.

Sansa swallowed hard. "I can see you aren't going to care so let me regard you as the same. I will not be marrying Willas Tyrell."

Sandor perked his head up. "Oh? Why is that? You realize that you don't want to be married to a freak?"

A bitter snort came from deep inside her. "You have no idea how ironic that statement that is."

"Sansa, it's been a weird day even for this place. If you have something to say, please just come out and say it."

"I'm marrying Tyrion."

Sandor coughed a laugh - harsh and unforgiving. "That's not funny."

"It's not meant to be."

Sandor turned his head and saw that she had a dark expression. "Are you serious?"

"I thought you should know before anyone else."

He sat up too fast and almost fell off the bed. Sansa rushed to catch him but he resisted. "Don't. I don't deserve it."

"I know. But I want to anyway."

He caught her eye. "After everything I've done?"

She took in a deep breath before joining him on the bed. "I was taking a bath earlier and I remembered something Arya told me. Do you recall on the way here that you killed that butcher's boy?"

"Aye."

"Arya and I got into a fight at breakfast one morning about what you did. She blamed Joffrey for Mycah's death; I blamed you. She told me that you were only doing what you had been ordered to do. I didn't care at the time. All I wanted was for her stop provoking Joffrey. I remember being so angry that she didn't care that I was to be his wife. Our relationship was never very strong but Joffrey…He ripped us apart without doing anything at all. He and the queen had manipulated everything so that our family would be weak and fragile. They made me trust the queen while hating my family. I condemned my father to death and my family to ruin because I was afraid of them." Her blue eyes flew to his with a steely determination in them. "But not anymore. They think I'm weak; that I won't fight back because I have too much Tully in me. Turns out I'm more wolf than fish. It just took me a long time to see it. I owe that to you."

"Does this mean we're okay?"

Sansa thought on that for a while. "It means I won't let them take away anything else I love because I was too afraid to fight. You told me that I was your sun. Well, you're mine too and just because a few clouds darken the skies doesn't mean we can't shine again. We'll just have to weather the storm."

"It's one hell of storm," he muttered.

"I won't deny that. No doubt there will be many more though we can only pray they aren't as complicated as this one."

"And Tyrion? Are you going to marry him?"

"I have no choice."

A smirk made his mouth twitch. "So now our roles will be reversed. You will be the one on display."

Sansa agreed. "Yes. But you will not have to watch us consummate our marriage."

"I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what Joffrey had in mind."

"What would you do?" He looked confused so she asked again. "If it comes to that, what would you do?"

Sandor's throat went dry. "I don't know. I'd like to think I would kill them all."

"But you wouldn't. I never want you to experience what I felt looking at you that day. I have never been so disgusted in my life. In that moment, I hated you. I hated her. I hated everyone in that room. That's exactly how you would feel too. I know that you want everything to be the way it was but tell me: if it was you sitting in that chair watching me be with Jaime Lannister, would you be able to look at me the same way again? _Will_ you be able to look at me the same way after I get married?"

He stared at her, emotions warring within him. "No."

A sad smile spread across her lips. "I know you didn't mean it; nor will I when the time comes. But that doesn't change the fact that it _did_ happen."

His voice thickened as he let her words soak in. "If I could take it back I would. I'd tell him to go to the seven hells and burn forever."

"Then we both have things we wished we could undo," she replied morosely. "I don't want to hold this over your head no more than I want my family to hold my mistakes against me." She took his hands gently in hers. "But I don't ever want to see you around her again unless I'm there."

"Okay," he said without a second thought. He felt her squeeze his hand lightly. It still sent a shock through him.

Things would never be the same again but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He had always known that being with her was a risk; now that they paid a price for it, they both realized that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. The only true damage that was inflicted was the kind no one saw besides themselves. Other couples weren't so lucky. She was right though: time would be the only medicine for the wounds.

**A/N:** Just so I don't get any more "WTF are you doing?" reviews, let me say one tiny thing: Sansa _is_ traumatized. This is her way of dealing with it. You may not like it, but that's how it is. I am simply following canon. The world Sansa and Sandor are in is still the canon world of Game of Thrones. That never changed. The characters simply grew while everything around them has stayed the same (in terms of playing the game). That makes it hard for them to maintain their relationship while trying to act like their old selves. And we thought our lives were complicated.


End file.
